Fast Blood
by imaginationismymuse
Summary: From the moment Damon meets Irene, he wants her, all of her. But as Damon is about to learn, the truth will always come out, and when it does it may just break your heart. Book One in the Blood series.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, everyone!**

**First off, thanks for clicking on my story. Means a lot. Secondly, please leave a review. Let me know what I can improve, or just tell me what you think. Lastly, enjoy.**

**- imaginationismymuse x**

* * *

_Prologue_

The night was cold, colder than it had been in a long time. This winter was a harsh one. The coldest anyone could remember. The gusts of air that swept through the forest chilled the bone and rattled the icicles hanging from the trees' bare branches. Snow had fallen the previous night and the land glowed iridescently in the pale light of the full moon.

It was a beautiful sight, a rare one, but the figure who raced through the thin pine trees that reached like spires towards the sky didn't pause to marvel. Her cloak flew out behind her like a cape as she lifted her skirts, pushing her legs to move faster. Her hood had fallen from her face and her hair, now free, streamed behind her, black as a raven's wing. The moonlight caught the terror on her face, the parted lips, the wide, stricken eyes. Her muscles screamed in protest with every step she took but she continued to push. Her lungs were on fire but she continued to push. Even as she felt she could not take another step, she continued to push. She couldn't slow down, not for a second.

They were gaining.

Their footsteps seemed to surround her. Her heart pounded in her chest, fear growing with each frantic beat. She swerved, confused, terrified, and crashed to the ground. Her ankle, caught by a root, twisted, hands grazed over the rough ground and began to bleed. Tears welled in her eyes but she blinked them away. There was no time for tears. She couldn't let them catch her. She pushed herself to her feet, unable to contain a gasp as pain speared through her ankle, sharp and crippling. She couldn't let them catch her. She hobbled forward, biting her lip to keep from crying out. The taste of iron and salt filled her mouth as her teeth broke the soft skin of her lips but she ignored it. She couldn't let them catch her, no matter how much pain she was in.

As she took another agonizing step forward, a figure dressed in shadows stepped into her path. She froze, and her skin, usually golden, went white.

_No._

Small, white tufts of air curled into the night then disappeared as ragged breaths slipped from her parted lips. Her frantic breathing seemed to echo through the forest. To her right, a figure appeared in her peripheral vision. The same happened in the left. She was surrounded, cornered, injured. She stood no chance.

_No._

She took a step backward, freezing as her back hit a hard, unyielding obstacle. She turned. Her breath hitched as her eyes met the hard topaz eyes of her pursuers.

_No._

His lips curved. "Hello again."

It was the last thing she heard before the world went black.

* * *

The witch watched as the girl was carried into the clearing, slung over the shoulder of Virkinoff. It distressed her that such measures had to be taken to secure this girl when she had hoped, expected, that this would be a peaceful process. It had been for the other four. This had been their choice. This girl, however, was different. She was rare, powerful, and she did not know it.

"Where must I place her, milady?" Virkinoff asked her, Russian accent thick.

She gestured to a slab of alabaster rock, an altar, in the centre of the clearing. "Place her on the altar, Virkinoff. Secure her bonds. Make sure she cannot escape again."

Virkinoff tied the girl to the altar, securing each foot and each hand to a corner so she lay spread-eagled across the cold, white surface. When it was done, he fell into place beside his brothers and sister, bowing his head. The witch stepped forward, lighting a circle of lanterns that were arranged around the altar. The girl's raven hair, that spilled over the side, caught the light of the fire and glimmered. She was beautiful. _Like her mother_, the witch thought as she laid her hands on either side of the unconscious girl's head, feeling her injuries and repairing them. As she finished, the girl's eyes -the colour of pine needles- flickered open, filling with fear when she saw the woman hovering above her. The witch smiled, pulling her hands away.

"Welcome back, young _Umbra._"

The girl arched off the table but found she couldn't escape, the knots were too tight. Panic set in her chest, tears misting her eyes. "Please," she whimpered. "Please let me go."

"Shhh," the witch soothed, brushing a hand over her forehead. "You will not be harmed. You have been chosen."

"I do not want to kill anyone. Please," she pleaded, "do not force this upon me."

"Are you so sure, young _Umbra_?" The witch circled the altar slowly, eyes never leaving the struggling girl. "Is there not one person you feel should die? Is there not one person who has taken something from you, something you can never have again? One person who deserves to rot in hell?" The girl stilled and the witch, seeing this, purred, "You see, youngling, there is someone."

"Niklaus," the girl murmured without meaning to.

The smile on the witch's face widened. "Yes, Irina. Niklaus Mikaelson."

The girl glanced at her, startled. "How did you come across my name?"

"I knew your mother, child. Tell me, the man who murdered her, who murdered your family, was not human, was he, Irina?"

The girl shook her head, tears fell down her cheeks. "He is a vampire, a monster."

"Yes. He deserves death, does he not?"

A fear came to Irina's eyes and she hesitated, before saying, "My mother told me that it is not for man to decide the fate of another."

"That does not answer my question."

Once again, she hesitated, before whispering, "Yes."

The witch smiled, triumphant. "You want to kill him, don't you?"

Irina shook her head. "No. I do not wish him well but I will not become what he is, I will not kill another."

The witch sighed. This girl was stubborn, no matter how much she was coaxed onto the right path, she always seemed to diverge. "I had hoped you would be more agreeable, Irina, daughter of Yessenia. I am afraid this is not your choice to make. It could have been."

Irina began to struggle. She couldn't become a killer. She couldn't. Her breathing quickened and, as if on instinct, she called to the shadows, to the darkness, to the night. It was where she found comfort and safety. She called for protection and something answered her. She clung onto it, clung onto the call. Shadows wove from the trees, from the mountains, winding towards her like streams of water. Irina did not notice, she just screwed her eyes shut and called, and called.

The witch watched as darkness covered the slim figure upon the altar. She did not attempt to stop it, she couldn't have if even she had tried. Her magic could not banish the shadows for the shadows and those who controlled them were ancient, more so than the witches, the werewolves, the vampires. Instead, she sealed the circle of five. There were five torches for five Keepers. There were five Keepers for five Original vampires. Each of her Keepers took a place behind a torch, one which bared the sign for an Original sibling.

"Mistress," Dustan, the one who would hunt Elijah, murmured, "must we stop her?"

"Leave her be, Dustan. She cannot harm us, not yet. She will tire soon." The witch gestured to Jonah, the man who had been scorned by Rebekah. "Jonah, bring forth the white oak stake, bring forth the Keeper's ring, bring forth the chalice, the vial and the knife. Bring them forth and we shall begin. She will not last much longer."

Jonah stepped forward, going down on one knee to present the items his mistress had requested. The witch set them on the altar, ignoring the tendrils of blackness that covered Irina from view. She could feel the girl's life force, it was drained. It wouldn't be long now. As if her thoughts had been heard, the shadows retreated from Irina's now unconscious form. The witch placed her fingers upon her neck, feeling the pulse, and nodded.

"Let us begin, my children."

The four Keepers began to chant, eerie voices rising into the night. The witch opened the vial and poured the thick, crimson liquid into the chalice. She seized Irina's limp hand and drew the knife across her palm. Blood swelled from the wound and the witch held it over the chalice.

"_Sanguis vinculum_ (Let the blood link)," she murmured. "_D__amnatorum captivitatem_, _ut in eo qui frequentat _(Let the fate of the damned be that of the one who haunts him)."

The witch pressed the chalice to Irina's lips. Irina started as her and Niklaus's blood touched her tongue. Her eyes snapped open and she gagged at the revolting, bitter taste, coughing. The crimson liquid slid down her chin, staining her skin. Once she had been made to swallow all of it, the witch removed the chalice, setting it down, and held her hands above Irina. Her eyes were closed.

"_Confirma neruisque tribues ventus __celeritate_ (Strengthen her sinews, give her the speed of the wind)."

Irina cried out in pain as her muscles tightened, her back bowed off the altar. It felt as though she were on fire, as if she were being burned from the inside out. Around them, the wind raged, lightning flashed across the night, lighting it up, and the Keepers continued to chant.

The witch placed the ring in her hand, lifting it upwards. "_Hoc annulo illam arcentque ambulantes in nocte, et comburet ea_ (Let this ring protect her from the night walkers, let them burn)." She slipped it onto Irina's finger.

Irina screamed now as her muscles became tighter and tighter, movement became impossible. She was held in pain, in the burning. Images of her family, of her mother, of her father, of her little sister and brothers as they lay around the still smouldering fire, bodies drained, mouths open in eternal terror, flickered through her head. These memories of that day, that fateful day, were more painful than the fire that burned her insides. If only she had yes, if only she had accepted Niklaus's proposal to join him in eternity, her family would be alive. Tears streamed down her face.

_No._

The witch lifted the white oak stake, placed the tip on Irina's chest. "_Hoc telum ira illius implebit. Hoc telum ira sua incitare. Hoc ipsum demerge ferrum in corde damnatorum. Hoc telum finem doloris _(Let this weapon fill her with rage. Let this weapon incite her fury. Let this weapon plunge itself into the heart of the damned. Let this weapon end her suffering)."

Lifting the stake, the witch plunged it into Irina's heart. The girl coughed once, twice before her eyes shut and her body sagged against the altar. The wind died down, the lightning ceased. The world was calm and still as the witch pulled the stake from Irina's chest, watched with satisfaction as the wound healed.

"It is done," she said, removing the bindings from Irina's wrists and ankles, and placed the stake in Irina's hands. "It has begun, my children. The last Keeper has been chosen. The last _Umbra _in existence. She is a worthy opponent for Niklaus."

And as the night became day, as darkness faded into light, Irina Moraru jolted upright, a ragged breath tearing from her lips, and her eyes snapped open, and they glowed topaz.

* * *

**Don't forget to let me know what you think! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Much love to all those who pressed 'next'! Thank you so much!**

**I just want to clarify that though I will be following the storyline of TVD, it will be slightly AU. Everything will happen in the correct order but how it happens may be altered. Sorry for this but I have to figure my OC into it.**

* * *

_Chapter one_

So maybe opening the tomb hadn't been the best idea but it wasn't anything to scream at him for. Yes, he knew he was a terrible person. He didn't care. Yes, he knew she would hate him if anything happened to Stefan. He was used to it, preferred it in fact. It was easier for him that way, easier to deal with his feelings for her when she pushed him away.

Yeah, he didn't understand her rage, appreciated it, but didn't understand it. What was so wrong about wanting to find someone he loved? _Thought,_ he corrected himself, _someone_ _I _thought _I__ loved. _After all, Katherine hadn't been trapped in the tomb like he thought she'd been, hadn't been suffering for over a century like he'd believed. She'd known where he was, had always known, but she hadn't come to find him. She didn't love him, not like he had loved her. He could accept that though. Okay, maybe he was hurt, maybe he was angry, but that was natural, healthy even. At least it meant he could still feel, meant he wasn't a complete monster. That was good, wasn't it? He wasn't so sure but he would hold onto it, hold onto the sudden burst of emotions because they were all he had.

Damon Salvatore pushed these thought as he watched Elena pace the length of the Salvatore's living room. Her face was pinched with worry, eyebrows scrunched together, lining her forehead. Her long brown hair swished down her back as she moved. There was fire in her and it made her, to him anyway, beautiful, perhaps even more so than Katherine. _Katherine._ Damon shook his head, trying to get _her _out of it. Elena turned to face him, brown eyes drilling into him. Oh yeah, there was fire in her.

"You have to fix this," she said imperiously, like a queen speaking to her servant. "You have to save Stefan."

"Actually, I don't _have _to do anything, Elena." He swirled the whiskey around in his glass. He resented the way she expected him to listen to her. "It's not my fault he got caught."

Elena pounced on him, doe eyes flashing like a tiger's. "Not your fault?" Her voice rose, but it was desperate. "This is all your fault, Damon! You were the one who opened that tomb and for what? Katherine wasn't even in there!"

"I know that," he said drily.

He didn't see how that was _his_ fault though. How was he supposed to know she wasn't in that tomb? If anything, this was Anna's fault. Anna had let him believe Katherine was in there so he would help her open the tomb. _I should've killed her_, he thought regretfully. It was too late now. Pearl would have his head if he touched her daughter and Pearl was considerably older than he was.

He quickly drained the remaining whiskey from his tumbler in an attempt to distance himself from the recent events that just wouldn't leave him the hell alone. It didn't work. It seemed as though the world was bent on drudging up the past, a past he'd rather forget. For the briefest of moments, he contemplated suicide but tossed the idea aside just as quickly. He was needed here. Who else would fix the messes his brother seemed to constantly get himself into? Damon stood up and poured himself more whiskey. Of course he would rescue Stefan. Not because Elena demanded that of him but because there was no way Frederic and his little band of vampires was going to torture his brother. That was _his _job... and maybe, just maybe, this _was_ partly his fault.

He downed the whiskey and set the glass down. Dammit, now he felt guilty. Stefan had warned him against opening the tomb and he had ignored him, accused of not wanting him to be happy. Now his little brother was suffering because of it. He sighed. Despite what Elena thought, he did have emotions. Just because he chose not to wear them on his sleeve like some damned martyr didn't mean they didn't exist. _Jesus I'm beginning to sound like Stefan. _He chuckled. It was a mistake. Elena let out an enraged cry and lunged at him. He could have stopped her easily but he allowed her to pound his chest with little fists. It was quite adorable.

"Are you having fun?" he asked a few minutes later.

Elena stopped, resting her fists on his chest, and looked up at him. Her face was stained with tears. Her big eyes drenched with sadness. He felt his resolve melt and, against his better judgement, he lifted his thumb to wipe a droplet from the edge of her nose.

"I'll find him, Elena," he promised softly. "Call Ric, tell him we need weapons, lots of weapons."

Removing his hand while he still could, he turned away but stopped when he felt her grip his arm. "Thank you, Damon."

He ignored the flicker of hope in his chest and nodded sharply. "Remember this the next time I want something," he replied and blurred away upstairs.

Once he was gone, Elena whipped out her phone and hit speed dial. Yes, she had her history teacher on speed dial. _Does that make me weird? _She wondered, impatiently tapping her black sneaker against the floor, and decided it did. Her whole life seemed to be weird though. Vampires and vampire hunters and women who looked exactly like her. It was weird. Ric answered after the third ring.

_"What's going on?"_ he asked without preamble. He knew what had happened. _"Have you found Stefan?"_

Her voice wavered slightly. "The tomb vampires have him. Damon's going to help us." She could almost hear Ric stiffen. "Please, Ric, we need him."

Ric sighed; he really didn't like Damon Salvatore. _"Fine, Elena. What do you need?"_

"Weapons," she replied. "Lots of weapons."

_"You got it. I'll be there fifteen minutes tops."_

"Thanks, Ric." Elena hung up and walked to the base of the staircase and called, "Damon, Ric said he'd be here in fifteen minutes."

"Perfect." Damon's voice was muffled. "There's just something I want –" His sentence ended as he let out a pained hiss. "Fuck."

What was he doing? Elena hurried up the stairs and almost ran straight into a ladder which descended from hole in the ceiling. _An_ _attic_, she realized. _When did that get here?_

"Damon, are you up there?"

She heard his derisive snort and resisted the urge to leave him there. Screw his attitude. She couldn't though. Elena needed him, needed him to get her Stefan back. She cautiously climbed up the rickety device and poked her head through the opening. A naked bulb was the only source of light for the large space and it took a while for her eyes to adjust. When they did, Elena's nose wrinkled. The attic was strewn with leather trunks and cardboard boxes. White sheets, now brownish-grey with age and disuse, covered most of the items. There was dust and cobwebs everywhere. Elena shuddered. She hated spiders.

"Damon?" she called. "Are you alright?"

"No," he snarled. She could see him now. He was crouched against the far wall, cradling his hand to his chest. "Someone decided to coat everything in vervain. And _you_ think _I'm _soulless?"

Elena ignored his comment and looked around the space. "What were you trying to find?"

"A ring," he said, annoyed by her lack of sympathy, and stood up. "The one my father used to wear. He said it protected him from vampires."

"Like vervain?" Elena asked, fingers going around her own necklace. The one Stefan had given her. She swallowed hard.

"No. Vervain is only for compulsion. Apparently, a vampire couldn't touch him without burning."

"And why are you looking for it?"

"I have a plan and that ring would be useful." He ran a hand through his hair. "If it even exists."

"Where were you looking for it?"

Damon pointed to a tall armoire edged with faded gold. "I think it's in there. It's where my father kept his prize possessions. One of the only things we managed to salvage from the mansion in the early twentieth century."

"Let me see if I can get it open," she offered.

Damon waved his hand. "Be my guest."

Elena picked her way hesitantly through the attic and Damon had to a hide a grin. The girl had no problem charging off to face a group of malicious vampires, but spiders? That was another story. It was endearing though and so human. Elena gripped the wooden door handles and gave a hard tug. She grunted and muttered but the doors refused to budge.

"It's not opening," she grumbled. "I need your help."

"You've done tougher things than opening a door. I think you can handle it." Damon moved to stand a few feet behind her. "Besides I can't touch the vervain."

"Who do you think put vervain on it?" Elena asked as she yanked on the doors.

"Stefan, probably," Damon said, "or Zack."

"I don't think so. I think it was your father." Elena tugged and the doors gave an inch, blowing hair from her face. "Didn't he hate vampires?"

Damon looked thoughtful. "That makes sense. Why that cunning old bastard," he chuckled. "I didn't give him nearly enough credit."

"Damon," Elena reprimanded. The doors gave another inch. "That's your father you're talking about. Have some respect."

"Why? He hated me."

"That's not –"

The doors burst open and Elena shrieked, losing her footing. Her arms flailed as she tried to maintain her balance. Damon caught her against the hard length of his body, arms going around her waist as he spun her round to face him. Her palms flattened against his chest as she steadied herself. Realizing who she was pressed against, Elena's gaze snapped up and was caught in his ice blue eyes. She forgot all about Stefan. There was something about Damon, something dangerous and passionate that made her heart race and her blood pump. It was thrilling, so different to Stefan. Then she saw the amusement in his light eyes and stiffened, irritated with herself. This was Damon. She pushed away from him and dusted off her jeans.

"Thanks," she muttered.

"Anytime," he said smoothly. "You know how I _love _helping people."

Damon skirted around her and began digging through the cupboard, trying to quell the feelings Elena ignited in him. It wasn't that hard to tuck them away, not when you had had so much practice. Damon was excellent at hiding what he was feeling from everyone, including himself, and that's what he did right now. He concentrated on sifting through the junk his father had deemed important and his scowled deepened. Where was it? He had seen his father use it on Katherine, though he didn't tell Elena this. He knew the ring existed so where had his father put it?

Damon paused when he came to a portrait of a young woman, who gazed haughtily at him from over her shoulder. She wore an intricate mask of emerald and gold that obscured most of her face, but not the sensuous curve of her full, red lips. Her raven hair was piled artfully on her head, tendrils curling around her face, and the elegant column of her neck was on display. Her skin was golden and looked like it would be softer than silk. He ran his thumb over her bare shoulder as though he would be able to feel the texture. It was her eyes that held him though. They were topaz and they glowed off the canvas. He had never seen eyes that colour. Who was she?

Elena, who was impatient to have Stefan back, cleared her throat. "Who is she?" she asked.

Damon flipped over the portrait and frowned. "I don't know. It doesn't say, just that my ancestor Niccolò Salvatore painted her in the late thirteenth century."

"So it doesn't help us find Stefan?"

Recognizing the hint, Damon set the painting down. "Nope, and I don't think this ring exists either."

"So we wasted all this –" Elena's cell phone rang, cutting her off, and she jumped, blushed then swiftly pressed 'answer'. "Hello?"

_"It's Ric."_ He sounded slightly out of breath. _"Where are you?"_

Elena was already moving towards the ladder. "Are you here?"

_"I'm outside."_

Damon appeared by her side and gave her a quick nod; he wasn't going to find the ring now. "Okay," she told Ric. "We're coming now."

* * *

"There's no way I'm staying in the car."

Damon rubbed his temples. He could feel a headache coming on. "Yes, you are, Elena," he told her. "It's too dangerous for you. You are a human and these are vampires, vengeful ones."

"So?" she said petulantly. "Ric is a human. How come he gets to go?"

"I don't care if Ric dies or not," Damon snapped. "No offence, Ric."

Ric shrugged from the backseat. "None taken," he said easily. "Your death wouldn't exactly bother me either."

"I can handle myself," Elena put in, folding her arms stubbornly across her chest. "I'm not a child. Don't treat me like one."

Damon slammed his hands on the steering wheel, making both Ric and Elena jump. He had had enough. "I care about you, Elena. I'm trying to protect you. Why can't you see that?"

There was awkward pause as Elena registered this information. Did Damon just say he cared about her? Elena frowned. No, she decided. Damon didn't care about her. Damon didn't care about anyone. That was what made him Damon. This was all a ploy to make her stay in the car. She was about to say so when Ric cleared his throat.

"I agree with Damon," he said quickly and Elena felt her heart sink. "You're too young. I have more experience."

Elena slumped back against her seat. "Fine," she said, "but I'm not happy about this."

"I think I can live with that," Damon said.

They pulled up to the small farmhouse, barely visible through the mist and the rain. Switching off the engine, Damon climbed out the car. He drew in a deep breath through his nose, nostrils flaring. He could smell the blood from here. It was definitely Stefan's. His lips tightened. He leaned down and looked at Elena, who was staring resolutely ahead.

"Stay here," he told her. "I don't need trying to keep you alive distracting me."

Elena gave him a curt nod, refusing to look at him, let alone speak to him, and Damon straightened, slamming the door shut. He tried not to find her childishness so irritating but it was impossible. Couldn't she see he was just trying to protect her? He turned to Ric, who was busy arming himself with various stakes and vervain bombs. Ric then pulled on a thick windbreaker to hide them. Damon grinned.

"Ready to stake some vampires, Ric?"

Ric tossed Damon his own weapons, including a crossbow. "Oh, yes," he agreed heartily. "You ready to rescue your brother?"

Damon cracked his neck. "It's been a long time since I went vampire hunting."

"Then consider this a lesson." Ric pressed the tip of a stake against Damon's heart. "Through the heart or they'll pull it out and be helluva pissed off."

"Did you learn that from me?"

"Don't remind me," Ric said as they approached the house. "I still have the bruises."

"You know what to do, Ric?"

Ric nodded. "Get inside, find the landlady, bring her outside so you can get in."

"Then get the hell out of here. I don't want to be worrying about keeping you alive."

"I thought you didn't care?" Ric challenged.

"I don't." Damon shrugged. "I do enjoy having a drinking partner though."

Ric chuckled, liking Damon just a little more. "I'll take that as a compliment."

They separated. Ric going up to the front porch, ready to play the man with the broken down car, and Damon slunk round to the backdoor, waiting. His nostrils flared as he caught the scent of burning flesh. His blood simmered. They were torturing his little brother with vervain.

The kitchen door swung open as Ric and the middle aged woman who owned the house stepped onto the back porch. She opened her mouth to decline his entry but Damon simply reached forward and snapped her neck. There was no point in asking nicely and he was in no mood for pleasantries. Ignoring Ric's glare, he stepped over the dead body and entered the house. His face was set, eyes glinting dangerously. Damon was out for blood and he would get it. He always did.

* * *

Irene yanked her damp hair into a ponytail. Her skin tingled. She could sense them. So maybe Katherine was telling the truth. Irene was surprised. In all the years she'd known Pierce she'd never heard anything but lies slip from her lips. Yet, just as Katherine had said, there seemed to be an unusual amount of vampire activity in Mystic Falls. This whole place reeked of the supernatural. It made her teeth hurt and it put her on edge.

Irene reached down into the pockets of her tan cargo pants and drew her wooden bullets from them. She quickly reloaded her gun then shoved it back into its holster around her hips. Personally, she preferred stakes but, practically, guns were far more efficient and powerful. You also didn't have to get so close to your target. Old habits die hard though. The stake she kept tucked against her calf, hidden by her baggy pants, was proof of that. Her trainers were soaked from trudging through soggy leaves and they squelched as she walked. Irene sighed. Sneaking up on vampires was hard, harder still when your shoes were noisy. There was she nothing to could do about it though. Irene broke into a jog, weaving her way through the tall trees, as her nose picked up the cool scent of vampires.

She slowed to a walk when goosebumps rippled along her arms and legs and she saw a break in the forest. The vampires were close now. Irene may be stronger and faster than the average human but that didn't mean charging in, guns blazing, was a good tactic. Even if she couldn't die, it still hurt like hell. A vampire, even a new one, was almost twice as fast as she was and many times stronger. In her early days, she had taken the time to master knife throwing and sword fighting. When the gun had been invented, she'd made sure she mastered it too. It paid to be prepared.

The one thing Irene had never formally trained herself in was hand-to-hand combat. Oh, she'd picked up a few moves over the years but she rarely used them. There was no use for fancy fighting styles when your opponent was faster and stronger than you. If you tried to take a vampire on without weapons, you were screwed. Irene had learned that lesson the hard way.

No, as much as it pained her to admit, a gun was the most efficient way to deal with a vampire. Irene pushed up the sleeves of her black sweater, revealing tanned forearms, and rolled her shoulders. Drawing her gun from its holster, she slipped through the trees as silently as she could manage. Her eyes were alert, clocking and processing everything. It was time to see what she up against.

She stopped when she spotted them. There were two vampires, a male and a female. Keeping her gun trained on the pair, she slowly approached. As she neared the edge of the tree line, Irene noticed that there was a third one, a brunette girl. She was pressed against a blue car. In her hands, she clutched what looked like some kind of syringe. Irene determined from the way those hands shook and the way the two vampires were closing in on her that she was human.

Irene moved around, staying in the forest, until she had a clear view of the vampires. She targeted the female, who was standing slightly in front of the male. The male vampire was the more dangerous opponent but she didn't have a clear shot at him. Rule one when hunting vampires: don't go for the harder target, go for the easy one. Go for the one with least chance of you missing. She only had one chance to kill one of them. The gun shot was noisy, even with a silencer. It was the easy shot or you had two vampires to kill the old fashioned way.

Taking aim, Irene inhaled, keeping both eyes open and focused on the vampire's heart, then exhaled. As she did, she pulled the trigger. The bullet whizzed through the air, hitting the female vampire before she had time to move or even comprehend what was happening. Her body jerked and she crumpled to the floor. The male vampire's growl echoed through the forest. Irene swung behind a tree and waited for him to find her. It wouldn't take long. She'd scraped her elbow on the rough tree bark and the shallow graze began to bleed. _No_, she thought, _it wouldn't take long at all._

"I can smell your blood." His voice shook with hunger. "I've never smelled anything so delicious."

"It tastes even better," she taunted. A tiny snap to her left made her swerve right. "It's a pity you're such a wimp."

She leaped away from the tree just as he drove his fist through the narrow trunk. Irene swung around and raised her eyebrows as the tree fell. This one had quite a temper. His eyes were hot and hungry and on her. He wasn't looking to play. He wanted to eat. It was going to make him reckless and, for her, that was a good thing.

She raised her gun, trained it on his heart but the vampire didn't give her a chance to fire. In a second, he'd closed the space between them. His fingers closed over her wrist, snapping it, and he wrenched the gun from her hand. Irene swore and leaped back, ignoring the way the movement grated her newly broken bones. Her wrist throbbed. She'd underestimated him, underestimated his hunger. He was still very much in control and now he had her gun. The vampire grinned at her.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked.

She didn't reply. There was no point in letting him goad her. Her eyes stayed fixed on the gun. From the way he held it, she could tell he had never used a gun before. That was good. It meant when she attacked him, he would be more likely to miss any of her vital organs. She also had the element of surprise on her side. He didn't know how fast she was, or how strong. Rocking back on her heels, Irene prepared to launch herself at him. She didn't know what gave it away or if it was just a coincidence. All she registered was the blast of her gun and a sudden, searing pain in her abdomen. She stumbled, falling to her knees. Her hands fluttered to her stomach, came back red. Her eyes narrowed. He'd shot her. _Now you've done it_, she thought darkly, pulling her stake from her calf. _You've gone and made me mad. _

Irene's head snapped up. Her eyes met his. The look cowed him momentarily. It was all she needed. Irene drew back her arm and threw the stake. It whistled through the air, embedding itself in his heart. He dropped the gun, hands going to the stake. The look of utter surprise on his face was priceless.

"You-you little bitch."

"Yeah," she said. "I've heard that before."

His skin greyed and his veins rose as his body fell to the floor. Using her good hand, Irene pushed herself to her feet. Her body would heal but not unless she got the bullet out. The broken wrist didn't help matters. Sighing, she holstered her gun and headed back to where she'd left the human, pressing her good hand to her wounded abdomen. It was best she didn't bleed out. It had happened before and she didn't care to have a repeat; the recovery process was slow and painful.

By the time she arrived back at the car, her breathing was hard, chest rising fast. The blood that continued to seep from her wound, despite her attempts to stay the flow, had made her weak. It had hit her harder and faster than she expected and now she regretted not removing the bullet immediately. She buckled over, hands on her knees, drawing in long, gasping breaths. Her wrist hurt like hell. Her stomach was on fire. It was cold and wet. Water slid down her spine, making her shiver. How could her day get any worse?

"Are you alright?" a familiar voice asked.

Irene glanced up and found Katherine's brown eyes staring down at her. Oh yeah, her day just got worse.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I would appreciate any advice, compliments or criticisms you can give. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Here it is! Sorry it took a little while. I'm in my first year at university so I'm still getting used to everything and trying to manage the work. Thanks for being so patient!**

**- imaginationismymuse x**

* * *

_Chapter two_

It took Irene a second to realize that the girl staring down at her wasn't a vampire and another second to remember the doppelganger curse. She had obviously stumbled upon the next Petrova doppelganger. Irene blinked. That was impossible though. Katherine's bloodline had ended with her; she had seen to that. Or maybe not, her likeness to Katherine was incredible, more than incredible, more than just a coincidence. They were identical. The only difference being that this girl had straight hair, whereas Katherine had curling chocolate locks.

"Are you alright?" the girl asked in Katherine's voice but much softer.

"I'll be fine." Irene's eyes took in the blood on her soft purple sweater. "Are you? You're covered in blood."

The doppelganger looked down and grimaced. "This isn't mine." She gestured to where the female vampire lay. "It's hers. Thanks, by the way. You saved my life."

She shrugged and tried not to wince as pain tore through her stomach. "It's fine… Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"It's Elena," the doppelganger said. "Elena Gilbert. And you are?"

"Irene Miller. Can I ask what you're doing here, Elena? It isn't safe."

Elena hesitated. "You're a _vampire_ hunter."

"Why is that a bad thing?"

"I'm trying to save a vampire." Elena shuffled uncomfortably. "My boyfriend in fact."

Irene took a second to comprehend what she was being told. "Your boyfriend," she said slowly, "is a vampire?" Elena nodded. "Well, this is one messed up town." Elena stiffened visibly. "Don't worry, Elena. I won't kill your boyfriend."

"Thanks." Elena's body relaxed. She looked over to the house. "Ric and Damon are in there now. I want to go help them."

"Who are Ric and Damon?"

"Damon is my boyfriend Stefan's older brother," Elena explained. Irene saw the way her lips tightened when she said the brother's name. "He's also a vampire. Ric is my history teacher who kills vampires."

This was just too weird. "History teachers doubling as vampire hunters and humans dating vampires... what has this world come to?" she joked. Her world spun for a moment. "Elena?"

"Yeah?" she said.

Irene didn't have long, maybe ten minutes. She took a deep breath. "Do you know where Stefan is?"

"Are you sure?" Elena asked, concerned. Her rescuer looked pale. "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine. I just hurt my wrist. I can still hold a gun." Irene stumbled slightly and Elena immediately moved to help her. Irene shook her head. "I'm good. Let's go."

"Okay," Elena said reluctantly. She could tell something was wrong. "Damon's going to kill me though."

"Screw him."

Elena grinned and Irene shot her a weak smile. She was warming up to Elena, despite their shared face she was nothing like Katherine. Thank God for that. They were rounding the farmhouse when her legs began shaking uncontrollably. _Shit_. Irene went down, hard. Elena called her name. She groaned in response as she rolled onto her back. Her wrist throbbed with a blinding pain. The blood from the gunshot wound was sticky against her skin. She'd pushed herself too hard. Her head was spinning like merry-go-round. Elena's worried face appeared above hers.

"Irene, what's going on?"

She sighed as if it was a minor inconvenience and glanced down. "I got shot."

Elena's eyes followed her gaze down to her stomach and widened. The black material of her sweater hid the blood well but the red on her fingers was clearly visible, and there was a lot of it. Irene struggled to sit up, hissing as the bullet scraped her tender flesh. Elena jumped to her feet.

"Stay there. I'm going to go get help," she told her. "Keep pressure on it."

Irene made a weak attempt to grab Elena's wrist. "It's too dangerous, Elena. Don't worry. I'll be fine. Just get out of here."

Elena was already running off though, telling her hold on. Irene tried to go after her but her body wasn't cooperating. Cursing, she fell onto her side, curling protectively over her wounded stomach and wrist. This day just kept getting worse. Not only had some vampire managed to shoot her, and with her own weapon no less, but now the Petrova doppelganger –possibly her only way to get Klaus to come out of hiding– was going to get herself killed trying to save someone who couldn't die.

* * *

Damon stepped over the decaying body of a vampire and smirked. "You'd think you'd have learnt your lesson from the first time. Don't mess with me, asshole."

Kicking down the heavy basement door, Damon stepped into the small room. The walls lined with gardening tools were rough and unfinished. Dull light coming from two narrow windows was the only source of light for the small space but it was plenty for a vampire's eyes and Damon's blood boiled at what he saw.

His brother hung from a metal ring in the centre of the room. His skin was too pale and across his bare chest was a long, thin wound but, judging by the amount of blood, it was deep. The stench of Vervain permeated the room, burning his nose and throat. Damon's jaw tightened. He stepped forward and slapped Stefan smartly across the face. His brother groaned and his eyes cracked open. Upon seeing Damon, the corners of his chapped lips lifted. He tried to speak but Damon shook his head. There was no time for an emotional reunion.

"You can thank me later, Stef." He gripped the chains, hissing as the vervain on them burned his fingers. "Fuck. What have you gotten yourself into, brother?"

The flaps at the top of the outside entrance rattled and Damon tensed, watching the doors. His fingers tightened around the stake he held. There was a grunt and then the flaps swung open and Ric tumbled down the stairs. Damon raised his eyebrows, smirking. Ric was on his feet in a second and shot Damon a scowl that froze when he spotted Stefan. Damon saw the anger flash in his eyes.

"What the hell did they do to him?"

Damon ignored the question. It was a dumb one. "There's vervain on these chains. Can you get them off?"

Ric lifted the heavy duty clippers he'd found outside and tossed them to Damon. "Figured you might need these."

Damon grinned as he caught them. "Thanks, Ric. Make sure he doesn't fall. I don't think he can stand."

Ric positioned himself in front of Stefan, ready to catch him. Damon proceeded to cut the chains away. Stefan swore as each chain tore away from his body.

"Now now, Stefan," Damon chided. "You know your girlfriend doesn't approve of swearing."

"Elena?" Stefan's head shot up as Ric wound Stefan's arm around his shoulder. The look of love in his bloodshot eyes made Damon want to be sick. "Where is she?"

"In the car," Damon replied, moving to help Ric.

"What?" Stefan demanded weakly. It was all the anger he could muster. "You let her come _here_?"

"I couldn't have stopped her if I tried, brother. You're just lucky I managed to convince her to stay in the car."

Ric and Damon situated Stefan between them, one of his arms around each of their shoulders. Damon frowned as Stefan's legs trembled. His brother was unusually pale, even for a vampire. What was wrong with him? It clicked, like a light bulb went off in his brain. He was hungry. Damon knew the feeling well. Stefan was hungry and he needed human blood, not his nature diet. It wasn't going to be enough this time, just like it hadn't been enough every other time.

Stefan groaned painfully as they took a step forward. Damon felt his control beginning to snap. His fingers itched with the need to kill someone. Ric caught the look in Damon's eyes and had to suppress a shudder at the barely controlled violence he saw there. He knew that look. Someone was going to die.

"We have to get him out of here, Damon," Ric reminded him cautiously. He didn't feel like dealing with a bloodbath. "He's lost consciousness," he added as Stefan sagged beneath them.

Damon nodded, though the tight anger still simmered just beneath the surface. "When he wakes up, I'm going to kill him."

"I don't doubt it."

Between the two of them they managed to hoist Stefan up the outside staircase and into the drizzle. They dragged him around the house and Damon's heart caught in his throat as his eyes landed on the car, the unmistakably empty car. He froze and Ric's face, when he saw what had made Damon freeze, paled. He and Damon looked at each other. This is wasn't good. In fact, this was a fucking nightmare. Moving as fast as they could, both praying she was just hiding in the back seat, they hauled Stefan to the car. When they got there, Damon let out a hiss. She wasn't there. He released Stefan, ignoring Ric as he stumbled under Stefan's weight, and ran a hand through his damp hair. Where was Elena?

"Dammit, Elena. Where do you think she's gone?" Ric asked.

"I don't fucking know," he snarled, terrified. "Jesus, why couldn't she have just listened to me?"

"Don't worry, Damon." Ric tried to calm him down, internally he was cursing Elena. "We'll find her."

"It's what we'll find that I'm afraid of." His eyes darted towards the forest then back to the house. "After this is over, I'm going to kill _both _of them."

"Let's get Stefan into the car and then we'll go look for her." He was beginning to strain under Stefan's weight. "She couldn't have gotten far."

"No. You stay here with Stefan. I'm going to –"

"Damon!" His head swivelled and his gaze landed on Elena. She was running towards him, eyes wide and panicked. "I need your –" She spotted Stefan and her hand went to her mouth. "Oh my God," she whispered. Elena forgot about Irene and ran for him, heart in her throat. "Stefan!"

Damon stormed towards her. This was the final straw. "Elena, what did I tell you? Stay in the car. It was the simplest thing in the whole flipping world and you couldn't do it. Do you want to get killed?" He caught her shoulders and appraised her blood-smattered sweater. "What the fuck happened?"

"Don't swear," she snapped irritably, pushing him away. "This isn't my blood. It's a vampire's."

Damon looked doubtful. "_You_ killed a vampire?"

"No, Damon, Irene did." Her face paled. "Oh my God, I almost forgot. Irene. Damon, I need your help. She's hurt, badly."

"Who's Irene?" he asked. "And why do I need to help her?"

"She saved my life, Damon." Elena fixed Damon with a pleading look. Its effect was somewhat lost; he was still furious with her. "She got hurt trying to save me. She's going to die if I don't help her."

"You mean she's going to die if _I _don't help her, don't you?" Damon sighed and nodded at Ric. "Ric, can you manage to get Stefan into the car?"

"Sure thing," Ric said. "Do you want me to –"

"Yes," Damon cut him off. He didn't need Elena to find out about the human blood just yet. "Elena, show me where she is."

Damon followed Elena as she raced around to the side of the house. He tried to pretend he hadn't the seen the way her gaze had lingered on Stefan, how worried she'd looked. He tried not to care but it didn't work. It hurt him, cut him deep. He pushed it under the rug. There were more pressing matters to worry about, like this Irene person who'd apparently saved Elena. He welcomed this distraction.

"There she is," Elena said, pointing to the body of an unconscious young woman.

Damon flashed to her side and knelt down on the damp grass. He gently turned her onto her back and immediately noted that her wrist was broken. Literally, the bones had been snapped in two. It must've hurt like hell. The next thing he noticed was that she was bleeding. The rich aroma of her blood made his nostrils flare. She smelled delicious, tantalizing, like nothing he'd ever smelt before. His fangs itched to sink themselves into her flesh. Elena's presence was the only thing that kept him at bay.

"She said she'd been shot." Elena gingerly lifted the girl's black sweater. There was a large, messy bullet hole in her lower abdomen. "Oh God."

Damon inspected the wound, valiantly ignoring the blood. "I think the bullet's still in there. I can't heal her unless I get it out."

"Well then get it out."

"I can't do it here," Damon said. "It's too dangerous. We need to get out of here." He stood up and scooped the unconscious girl into his arms. "Go help Ric with Stefan."

It was clear she wanted to go back to Stefan but her concern about Irene made her hesitate. "What about Irene?"

"I'm going to run her back. She can't go in the car with Stefan."

"Why not?" Elena asked.

"Stefan is weak, Elena. His control's not going to be the best."

"Stefan doesn't drink human blood, Damon."

Damon knew where this was going. There was no way to avoid it. "I didn't have a choice, Elena. Animal blood won't heal him properly, not this time. There's only one way for him to recover from this." Elena opened her mouth but he cut her off. "Ric is feeding him bagged blood now."

Elena glared at him. "That wasn't your choice to make."

"I'm saving his life, Elena. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"I don't want him drinking human blood, Damon, and neither does he." Elena crossed her arms, eyes flashing, and spat, "How dare you?"

That was it. He growled at her. How dare _he_? How dare _she_? "Go to the car now, Elena, before I lose it and do something I'll regret."

Something in his voice made her listen. Damon waited until he heard the sound of the car's engine starting then he turned and disappeared into the forest. Irene's head flopped onto his shoulder. Damon increased his pace. The world blurred around him. He had to get her to the Boarding House before she bled out or before the smell of her blood drove him insane.

* * *

_Irina stared at the stake in her hands. The alabaster wood was smooth beneath her fingers, smooth and cold. It was a weapon, an object of death. Tears welled in her eyes. What had she done?_

_The clearing was empty. The witch had left. The other Keepers had left, all so eager to kill their prey, all so eager to get the freedom they felt they had to earn. It was as if she were halved, unsure whether to join them or condemn them. Yes, Irina had wanted Klaus to suffer but she had never been the one who wanted to make him suffer. Yes, Klaus deserved to die but she had never been the one who wanted to kill him. It wasn't her right to decide who died and who lived._

_A hand touched her shoulder and Irina jumped. She was on her feet in a second, moving so fast she blurred and disorientated herself. The speed was still new to her and she blinked several times before focusing on the person who had touched her. It was a woman, one with topaz eyes like hers, and a gentle, understanding smile on her face._

_"My name is Giuliana," she introduced herself. Her accent was Italian, soft and lilting. "Are you alright?"_

_She wanted to snap at her. Was it not obvious what she was feeling? However, the concern in Giuliana's voice prevented her from doing so and she said, "I am not."_

_"What is wrong, _piccola _(little one)?"_

_"I do not want to kill him," she answered. "I would never... I could never..." She trailed off, staring at the ground._

_"I know it is difficult, Irina, but it is the life we have been handed." Giuliana gave her shoulder a light squeeze. "We must play our hand and we must win, or we will never know peace."_

_"I do not think I can." Her eyes squeezed shut. She was determined not to shed another tear. "I do not think I can do it."_

_"Look inside you, _piccola._ Are you so sure?"_

_Irina hesitated as the need to kill Klaus welled inside of her. She was torn; head and heart at war. Her head told her she wanted to kill Klaus. Her heart told her she didn't. "My heart says no but my head says yes."_

_"I know how you feel, Irina. I too was in love with an Original brother. Kol Mikaelson. He left me, no explanation, nothing." Giuliana swallowed hard. "It was the night before we were to run away together."_

_"I am sorry, Giuliana." Irina tilted her head, studying the woman in front of her. She was beautiful. Not the mesmerizing beauty of Irina, but a quieter, more subdued beauty. Irina envied her. "How old are you?"_

_"I have seen twice ten winters," she answered. "And you?"_

_"A year younger than yourself."_

_"We are too young for this," Giuliana said with a sadness that belied her age. "We are not yet fully grown."_

_Irina scoffed at this. "I grew up the minute I laid eyes on the dead bodies of my family, slaughtered by Niklaus Mikaelson." There was a small pause. "Maybe I can kill him, Giuliana."_

_"Call me Giulie. It is what my friends called me."_

_She smiled gratefully at Giuliana; grateful that she wasn't alone. "Thank you for staying with me."_

_"I know how it feels to lose someone you love." Giuliana raised her head to stare at the night sky. Her hood fell back and her rich, chocolate-coloured hair gleamed in the moonlight. "The only problem is that I could have stopped it."_

_Irina took her hand. "I know how you feel."_

_"No, Irina, you do not."_

_"How so?" Irina challenged._

_"I have a son." Irina became still, the fire in her subdued as Giuliana continued, "I had him before I met Kol with a man whom I loved." Giuliana's eyes clouded with regret. "When I met Kol I became obsessed with him. He was so reckless, so handsome, so dangerous. My life had always been controlled and safe. He was the adventure I had been dreaming for. And when he left me, I could not let him go. I hated him for what he had done to me. He betrayed me."_

_"I know how you feel," Irina murmured._

_Giuliana turned her eyes to the girl beside her. "Irina, I was so consumed with my hatred for Kol, for what he did to me, that I _chose_ this life. I_ chose _to give up my family. Now my son is a man. He has children of his own and a beautiful wife and I cannot be a part of his world. All because of Kol Mikaelson."_

_Irina slipped her arm around Giuliana's shoulder. "I am so sorry, Giuliana. Why are telling me this though? We do not know each other."_

_"I do not want to do this alone and neither do you." Her eyes pleaded with Irina. "Let us hunt together?"_

_"Are we allowed to do that?"_

_Giuliana scoffed and lifted her chin. "I do not care if we are not."_

_"Let us go then." Irina grinned. She would hunt Klaus, she would make him pay and she would not do it alone. "I think we are going to be great friends."_

_"I think you are right, Irina."_

* * *

Damon gently laid Irene onto Zack's old bed. She moaned quietly and shifted, obviously trying to relieve her discomfort. She was pale, near white. Wasting no time, Damon lifted the hem of her sweater and dug his fingers into the bullet hole. Air rushed out between her teeth as he located the bullet and pulled it out of her. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow movements. Once the bullet was out, she relaxed again. Her face lost some of its pinched look. Damon bit his wrist and pressed it to her mouth. Much to his surprise, she didn't fight it. Her mouth clamped around his wrist and she drank greedily, clearly sensing the necessity of the situation.

He removed his wrist after a couple of minutes and checked her wounds. His eyebrows shot up. The purple bruising around her broken wrist had faded noticeably. The bullet wound was barely visible. _How did she heal so quickly? _His blood wasn't that potent. He gripped her chin and studied her face. It was difficult to see her features beneath the sweat and grime. He leaned back and watched as she lifted her hand –the one with the broken wrist– to scratch absentmindedly at her bedraggled blonde hair, still caught in a ponytail. He snatched up her wrist and inspected it. It was completely healed, whereas two minutes ago it hadn't been. What was she? Damon leaned down and inhaled deeply, valiantly ignoring the burning it ignited in his throat. There was nothing unusual about her blood. She was deliciously human.

"Don't even think about it, Damon," Elena said from the doorway. He had been so focused on Irene that he hadn't noticed the door opening. "She's hurt."

Damon leaned back, stumped. "What are you talking about?"

"You can't feed from her."

"Oh?" Damon smirked. "I rescued her, didn't I? I think I've earned the right to have a taster."

Elena's lips curled in distaste. "You're disgusting."

"I saved Stefan's life. I saved hers. I think I'm a hero."

"You're a long way from being that, Damon. Now get out. I'm going to bandage her up." In Elena's arms was a bottle of disinfectant used to clean wounds, bandages and cotton wool. "I'm going to need one of your shirts."

He yanked off the one he was wearing and had the satisfaction of watching Elena's cheeks redden. He tossed it to her. "Here you go," he said innocently.

She held the shirt at arm's length. "I meant a clean one, Damon."

Damon shrugged. "Take it or leave it."

"Fine," she snapped. "Now get out."

"Okay, okay. You won't need those bandages though. She's already healed."

"Leave."

"I'm going. I want to go check on Stefan anyway." He strolled towards the door and couldn't resist adding, "I think he needs some more blood."

Elena slammed the door behind him. "Jerk," she muttered. "Why do you always have to do that?"

Shoving back her irritation, Elena went to the bed and saw that Damon was right. The bullet wound was almost gone. Setting down the disinfectant, bandages and cotton wool, she began undressing Irene. She tugged off her muddy trainers and black sweater. Elena had a little trouble with the cargo pants but soon enough those were deposited on the floor too. Deciding that her clothes were ruined, Elena chucked them in the bin and doused a piece of cotton wool with disinfectant but when she went to clean the wound, she couldn't find it. Elena stared at the smooth skin. Irene was completely healed.

How was that even possible? Elena wasn't an expert but she was sure Irene shouldn't have healed so quickly. Maybe she was wrong; it wouldn't be the first time. She cleaned the blood off Irene as quickly as she could, chucking the used cotton wool tufts in the bin. She then, using a wet cloth from the adjoining bathroom, tried to wash the grime from the sleeping girl's face. Irene's blonde hair was a knotted mess and Elena had to cut the band from her hair.

She stepped back and studied her handiwork. It would do, she decided. She picked up Damon's black shirt and quickly unbuttoned it. There was no way Elena was leaving Irene in nothing but minute white briefs and white cotton bra, not with Damon around. She slipped the shirt onto Irene's body and buttoned it up then pulled the covers over her. Elena gave her a quick, awkward pat on the forehead then crept quietly from the room. She wanted to see Stefan.

Damon was waiting for her outside the door, leaning sexily against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Elena was relieved, and a little disappointed, that he'd put on another shirt. Then she remembered what he'd done to Stefan. Her back stiffened. She flounced passed him. He'd fed Stefan blood, human blood. She did so _not_ want to talk to Damon right now. It seemed, however, that he wanted to talk to her. As she passed him his hand gripped her upper arm. Elena jerked to a stop and glared at him, tugging against his grip but he wouldn't budge. His face, she noted, was tense.

"Let me go." She gave her arm another yank. "I mean it, Damon."

"How is she?"

"Don't pretend you care, Damon. I know she's just another meal to you." Elena caught the brief flash of hurt in Damon's eyes and her tone softened. "She's fine. Her wounds have completely healed."

"It shouldn't have happened that fast."

"Well, it did. We can figure it out later. When she wakes up." Elena glanced anxiously down the hallway. She wanted to see Stefan. "Can I go now?"

Damon released her arm and she hurried away, pretending she couldn't feel his penetrating stare on her back or the way it made her shiver. Elena gently pushed Stefan's door open and stepped into his room. There were blood bags on the floor next to his bed. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. Elena still didn't approve of Damon feeding Stefan human blood, especially without his consent. Okay, that was an understatement. She was furious with him but even she had to admit that Stefan did look much better. The colour was returning to his skin. The hollowness of his cheeks was filling. His eyelids fluttered open and those hazel eyes landed on her. He was so beautiful.

"Elena?" Stefan's voice distracted her from her staring. "Elena."

"Stefan." She slid down onto his bed, running her fingers down his cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he rasped, leaning into her touch. "Better now that you're here."

"I was so scared."

"I know." He moved over and she climbed under the covers, tucking herself against his side. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She wrapped her arms around him, felt the relief that he was going to be alright. "I almost wasn't though."

Stefan rested his head on her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. "What happened?"

"Two vampires found me in the car." Elena felt him stiffened and glanced down at him. "Stefan –"

"What were you doing there, Elena?" he asked, cutting her off. "Where was Damon?"

"He was busy saving you. Let me finish, Stefan. I didn't get hurt. Irene appeared before they could touch me."

Stefan's eyebrows furrowed. "Irene?"

"She's a vampire hunter, I think," Elena said. Her voice, when she spoke again, was ridden with guilt. "She almost died. Damon saved her."

"That's something," Stefan mumbled.

"I know." Elena pressed her lips to his forehead. "Get some sleep, Stefan. I'll stay right here."

His eyelids were already closing as he mumbled, "I love you, Elena."

"I know," she whispered. "I love you too."

Elena watched Stefan sleep. She couldn't believe this handsome, wonderful guy was hers, all hers. Her heart swelled. _He's mine_, she thought, _and I'm his. _Maybe, deep down, she had always known but it had taken almost losing him to realize it. She needed him. Maybe she wanted Damon but Stefan was who she needed. He was good for her and good was what she needed. Her arms tightened around him as he pressed his face into her shoulder.

"You," she murmured, not realizing there were listening ears. "Stefan, I choose you."

Damon downed his whiskey. He had heard every word and knew he'd lost her, lost her before he'd even had the chance to prove he was capable of love. He'd known this would happen. Girls like Elena –beautiful, sweet, perfect girls– didn't go for guys like him. Elena pissed him off, got under his skin, made him want to tear his hair out on a regular basis but he loved her. God, how he loved her. He rested his head against the empty tumbler. He had to let her go. If he loved her, he would let her go. He wanted to fight for her. _Maybe I will. _Damon listened as her breathing slowed, falling into synchronization with Stefan's. He knew it wouldn't work though. He had lost her just like he had lost Katherine. Although, he hadn't really lost them. You couldn't lose something you never had. And he'd never had Katherine and he'd never have Elena.

Over his thoughts, he could hear Irene's soft, slightly laboured breathing. Her breath was out of time though, out of synch with Stefan and Elena's. This vampire hunter was a mystery to him. How had she managed to heal so quickly? He remembered pulling that bullet from her, could still smell the blood that had poured out of her. He also remembered her wrist. It had been badly broken. Mending bones was harder and took longer. Normally. Not for her. Who was she? He didn't have the answer. To be honest, he didn't care much. What he wanted know was what was she?

* * *

**Let me know what you think! **


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm not sure about this chapter but please enjoy and let me know what you think.**

**- imaginationismymuse x**

* * *

_Chapter three_

It was dark outside when she woke, slowly dragging herself from the comfortable arms of sleep. She stretched and smiled when there was no pain. She paused. There was no pain. That was odd. It usually took her longer to heal. Irene sat up and pulled up the black shirt she now wore. The skin of her stomach was smooth, like nothing had happened. She wriggled her wrist. Nothing. She was completely healed. It didn't concern her though. She wasn't even curious. It had been over nine-hundred years of strange things happening to her. She'd learned not to question them. There were no answers for her. There never had been.

Anyway, she had more important things to worry about. Like where was she? Irene peered around the room she found herself in. It wasn't huge but it was furnished well. She remembered what had happened at the farmhouse and assumed this was Elena's home. She pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed, thinking how sweet Elena was. She was so different from Katherine. At least she had that in her favour, just a pity she looked exactly like her.

A sliver of light coming from under a door caught her attention. Gingerly, she pushed the door open and a sound of pure delight escaped her lips. It was a bathroom. It wasn't big but there was a shower with shampoo and conditioner and soap. Irene smelt like a compost heap and her hair was a greasy mess. Overall, she felt gross. She quickly stripped off the shirt and her underwear, vaguely wondering what had happened to _her_ clothes, and stepped into the shower.

She sighed as the hot water washed over her body. It felt wondrous. Picking up the soap, she lathered her hands and began scrubbing any trace of dirt from her body. It was like heaven, like absolute heaven. As she began washing her hair, Irene's thoughts turned back to Elena and she smiled. Her injuries had been worth it, she'd found the next doppelganger. Klaus was going to turn up sooner or later. He needed Elena's blood and she was going to kill him before he got it. Irene couldn't allow Klaus to break the curse. He would become even stronger then and she couldn't let that happen. Her work was hard enough without him being a werewolf. _I have to protect Elena_, she decided as she massaged the conditioner into her skull. Befriending Elena wouldn't be difficult, Irene already liked her. Keeping her safe though? That wasn't going to be as easy.

Irene turned off the water and stepped out the shower, pulling a fluffy beige towel from its hanger. She dried herself and slipped back into her underwear and the black shirt. It was a guy's shirt and thankfully it covered everything, just. It smelled like mint and some expensive cologne, one that made her think of silk sheets and the ocean. There was a comb by the sink and Irene yanked it through her blonde hair. She'd had many different hair colours over the years but blonde was definitely her favourite.

She went back into the bedroom and spotted her trainers lying next to the bed. Her gun was nowhere in sight. Irene searched the room but with no luck. Her gun was gone. She felt a tiny surge of irritation but quickly stamped it out. She'd just have to look for it. Simple. Irene eased the door open and tiptoed barefoot down the hallway. It felt rude sneaking around Elena's house but she needed to find her gun. Her ears picked up the sound of sleeping people. She assumed it was Elena and her family until her skin prickled in a way that was all too familiar. There were vampires in this house. Instinctively, she reached for her gun, hissing when she remembered she didn't have it. What had she gotten herself into?

"It's rude to sneak around someone's house," a smooth male's voice said.

The light flipped on and Irene blinked. It took a second for her eyes to adjust but once they had, they landed on a raven-haired male who was reclining in a battered leather armchair. In his hand, he twirled a tumbler of amber liquid. Irene swallowed hard. He was gorgeous. Her skin tingled. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, more like goosebumps. He was a vampire. His ice-blue eyes appraised her outfit and a devastatingly sexy smirk tugged at his lips.

"Love the outfit."

Irene snapped out of her daze and scowled. "What are _you_ doing in here?"

"I live here."

"You live with Elena?"

He chuckled. The sound grated on her nerves. It was so arrogant, so self-assured. "This is _my _house, blondie."

"Don't call me that," she said through gritted teeth. She didn't like him, not one bit. "My name is Irene."

"And?"

"And what?"

"I assume you have a surname."

She wanted to slap herself for being dumb. _Get it together._ "It's Miller. Irene Miller." She didn't extend her hand. "And you are?"

"Damon." He stood up and walked to a black wood drawer. A glass pitcher filled with more amber liquid stood on a silver tray. "Damon Salvatore. You want a drink?"

Irene froze when he said his surname. Surely she hadn't heard right? "Salvatore? Are you being serious?"

"Most people are when making introductions." He handed her a tumbler of amber liquid and caught her stunned expression. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Schooling her features into a neutral expression, she accepted the glass from him and took a long sip. Something was wrong. That name brought back so many memories, ones she'd rather forget. "Thanks for the drink."

"I have a few questions, if you don't mind?" he said in a tone that made it clear refusing wasn't an option.

"I guess you must." Without waiting for permission, she sunk onto one of the leather couches. She took another sip of the whiskey. "This is good whiskey."

"What can I say? I know my alcohol."

"That you do," she agreed. Irene drained her glass and set it down on the coffee table. "Okay, what do you want to know?"

"Who are you?" he asked, settling in the armchair.

She arched an eyebrow. "I already told you my name."

"Not your name, blondie. I want to know details."

Her irritation spiked at his calling her _blondie _but she brushed it off. "Like?"

"Name, age, hometown, occupation." He made vague hand gestures. "You know, all that stuff."

"Irene Miller, nineteen, born in Europe but I've been in America for a _long_ time," Irene said. That was the truth. She'd been in America for the last hundred or so years. "I'm a vampire hunter. That's what you really wanted to know, isn't it, Damon? You wanted to know if I was going to kill you or not."

"You know I'm a vampire?"

He seemed annoyed that she knew. Irene found particular pleasure in this and leaned back against the couch, smirking. "Elena filled me in. How is Stefan, by the way?"

"He's fine," he said irritably.

"Don't be like that, Damon." She gave him a wink. "I'm not going to kill you or your brother. You saved my life. I think I owe you that much."

Damon didn't seem convinced. "You're not driven by your all-consuming hate for vampires?"

Irene burst out laughing. It felt wonderful. "Do I look like I hate you?"

"No." He was put out by her amusement, by her sunshine laughter. "But I've been wrong before. So am I right to assume you're not going to stake me in my sleep?"

"It depends." Her light brown eyes drilled into him. "If you try to hurt me, I will kill you. Don't underestimate me, Damon Salvatore."

"I won't." Damon wasn't fazed by her though. It was more to placate her. He leaned forward. "Care to explain to me how you healed so fast though?"

She tossed him a careless look. "I assume you gave me your blood?"

"Don't play dumb with me." He appeared in front of her, leaning down until his handsome face was scant inches from hers. His arms caged her to the couch. "Your wounds should have taken at least until tomorrow to heal. You took minutes. Start talking or I'll make you."

Irene raised an eyebrow. "Are you _threatening_ me, Salvatore?"

"Do I have to?"

"I don't know," she said after a moment, trying to ignore the heat pooling in her belly. He was so close. "I'm a freak. I always have been."

His eyes trickled down her body and Irene tried not to squirm. "I find that hard to believe. Why don't you try again, sugar?"

Her patience was wearing thin. She sat up straight, bringing her face dangerously close to his. She could smell the whiskey on his breath now, could feel the heat rolling off of him. He really was gorgeous. It was devastating actually. Her irritation doubled. Why was she attracted to a vampire? Hadn't she learned her lesson?

"Don't call me _sugar_," she snapped. "There is _nothing_ sweet about me."

"I don't know." His heated gaze landed on her neck. "Your blood did smell divine. I'm dying to try it out."

"Try it and I'll kill you," she said flatly. "I mean it, Salvatore."

Damon held her gaze for a second longer, just enough time to make her wriggle in her seat, then he pulled back and settled down next to her. Irene ran a hand through her damp hair. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she knew he could hear it. She watched out the corner of her eye as he leaned forward, leaning his chin against his fist. He was stunning; there was no other word for it. Straight, raven hair waved into the collar of his black shirt, eyes she already knew could burn a hole through her stared ahead. His pale skin stretched over the hard plains and angles of his face, stopping him from being pretty. He was dressed in black from head to toe but it worked for him. His arms were lean and defined. Everything about Damon Salvatore screamed danger and sex. Irene gulped and looked away. That wasn't even an option.

"Why are you here?" he asked suddenly.

Irene forced her thoughts of Damon shirtless away. "Oh no, I've answered enough questions. Now it's your turn."

"Let me finish then you can ask me all the questions you want."

She held up a finger. "One more question only."

"Deal."

Satisfied, Irene tucked her legs under her. "I'm going to be a teacher. I'm here as a student. It's part of my assignment."

It was the truth. Of course, there was another reason but Damon didn't need to know that. It wasn't any of his business. All her stuff was already in the pretty little house she'd bought. _I have to remember to call Ruben and thank him_, she thought absentmindedly.

"And you just happened to be at that farmhouse when Elena needed your help?" he asked sceptically.

Irene grinned. He wasn't dumb. "Okay, you got me. I arrived in Mystic Falls yesterday. I was scouting out the area for any vampires. I must admit I got more than I bargained for."

"What made you think there'd be vampires there?"

"You're lucky I _was_ there, Salvatore, or Elena would've been some vampire's lunch." His face darkened and she raised an eyebrow. "Problem?"

He shook his head and cleared his throat. "I never did thank you for saving her."

Irene frowned at the obvious pain in his blue eyes. He didn't look so tough now. He looked positively fragile. With a start, Irene realized he loved her. Something clicked in her head, like a light bulb flashed on.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"I don't feel like answering any questions." He stood and stretched, expression smug. "I'm tired."

"Oh no, you don't." She was on her feet in a flash, fast enough make him blink. "Keep your end of the bargain. I answered your questions, you answer mine."

Damon smirked down at her. "One thing you'll learn about me, sugar, is that I lie."

"Were you shot and killed in eighteen-sixty four?" She watched his shoulders stiffen. "You were," she purred. "Weren't you?"

"How did you know that?" he growled.

"I'm a history teacher, or I'm going to be. I've studied up on the history of this town and I happen to know when Damon and Stefan Salvatore died." She shrugged. "It's part of my job description."

His expression relaxed into casual arrogance. "Well, I'm impressed, sugar. You know your history."

"More than you know," she murmured then yawned. "I'm exhausted. Can I leave now?"

"Best not to. We've got some vengeful tomb vampires running around and I don't think they'd be too pleased to see you. You caused quite a bit of damage."

Because she didn't feel like explaining she couldn't die, Irene nodded. "Fine but I'm leaving first thing tomorrow morning."

Damon didn't respond and Irene snuggled down onto the sofa. She watched him sleepily through half-closed eyes as he poured himself another drink and sat down in that armchair of his. Her mind was going at a million miles a minute. The love triangle, two brothers and the doppelganger – these were the brothers Katherine had loved, and discarded. The ones Irene had failed. Her eyes closed. The pain in her chest was now a dull ache. Giuliana had asked her to protect them, she had not. Because of Katherine Pierce. _Another reason to hate her_, she thought darkly. Still she felt she should apologize, even if he wouldn't understand it.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, barely coherent. She hadn't realize how tired she was.

She could feel his eyes on her. "What for?" he asked.

"Everything, Damon."

"I despise riddles. Tell me what you're talking about." His voice cooled. "Tell me or I swear I'll snap your neck."

She didn't hear his threat though; she was already too far gone. Her breathing slowed. Her face relaxed. Damon watched her as she slept. He couldn't help it. She was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. Her hair was a warm butterscotch, skimming just past her shoulders. Her skin was golden, rich and smooth. She seemed fragile. Those soft brown eyes didn't seem capable of killing anything.

It was foolish to think she was scared of him though. When he'd caged her against the couch, he had meant to make her fear him but instead lust had crackled between them and her eyes had almost glowed. He had wanted her then, wanted to know what those full lips would feel like on his, on him. They were curved now, as if she was dreaming of something pleasant. She shifted and his shirt rode up dangerously high, exposing her long, tanned legs. Damon swallowed hard, imagining her writhing beneath him, and, finding he enjoyed the image far too much, downed his whiskey.

He got up and covered her with a thin blanket that hung over the back of the sofa. It was easier now that she was covered. Damon ran a hand over his face. He couldn't get involved with her. There was something she wasn't telling him. He was sure of it. It wasn't going to be easy to get her to talk though. He knew that. What was she hiding? Was it important? Damon slumped back in his chair, letting out his own yawn. It had been a tiring day, both physically and emotionally. His eyes closed. He would worry about Irene and her secrets in the morning. His head lolled forward. Sleep came quickly and with it came a strange dream.

In his dream, there were two girls. One of them was Elena, the other faced away from him and he couldn't make out who she was. She had raven hair that tumbled to her waist. Both girls wore simple cotton dresses and around each of their waists was a rope. In his hands were scissors. He frowned down at them. What were they for? _You have to choose_, a voice sounding surprisingly like his mother's rang in his head. _You cannot have both. _Damon immediately went to cut the strange girl's ropes, he knew what he wanted.

He wanted Elena.

But as soon as his scissors severed the rope, the strange girl collapsed to the floor and Damon was left with the sense that he had made the wrong choice. He felt empty, hollow. He turned to Elena and saw she also had scissors. He looked down. There was a rope around his waist. How had he not noticed it? He looked up at Elena, giving a start. Stefan stood behind her. His brother's arms went around Elena, fingers linking with hers. Together they lifted the scissors and cut his rope. The floor opened beneath him and he fell into darkness.

* * *

**Please leave a review to let me know if you're enjoying it or not! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everyone! Thanks so much for your support and a special shout out to all those who review. You're the reason I keep writing. :)**

**- imaginationismymuse x**

* * *

_Chapter four_

The sky was lavender and pale pink when Irene woke up. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. She was still on the couch. Her fingers lingered on the blanket covering her. Had Damon covered her? It seemed out of character for him. She looked around and found him in the same position she'd left him in last night. His head was lolled backwards against the back of the chair, mouth open slightly, pale skin sharp in the morning light. He really was fantastic to look at, even when he slept. Irene stood up and tiptoed from the room, down the hall and to the bedroom where she'd left her shoes. Yanking them on as quickly as she could, Irene then crept back past Damon's sleeping form and eased open the front door.

The sky was quite light but the air was cold and Irene gave a shiver as her sneakers crunched through the forest. The fact that she still wore nothing but Damon's shirt didn't help. She glanced up at the sky, or what she could see of it through the trees, and judged that it was around six o'clock in the morning. That meant she had an hour and a half to get home, change, eat and get to the local high school in time for her first day as a student teacher. It was going to be close.

Damon's house was a twenty minute walk from hers but she made it in ten. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily when she finally made it home. Irene paused for a moment, admiring the house Ruben had found for her. It was more of a cottage really, painted a pale blue with white trim and a large porch with a swinging loveseat. There was only one bathroom, a bedroom, a kitchen cum dining room and a living room. There was no upstairs. To Irene, it was perfect. She walked up the gravel pathway with a smile on her face. She really had to phone Ruben and tell him how grateful she was.

Ruben la Fonte was her closest friend. She'd met him in New York in the nineteen-sixties. It had been an instant attraction. Nineteen-years old with a face like an angel and a body like a bull fighter, Ruben was a sight to see. His muscular arms and thick legs didn't match his pretty face. His bright turquoise eyes were startling against his ebony skin. It was strangely attractive though, the boyish face and hard body.

Ruben had been an activist back then, fighting for his rights. She had been drifting through, wallowing in self-pity. They'd met at an underground club, had a drink –okay, a couple of drinks and then some– and ended up in his cramped apartment. Nothing had happened. As soon as she'd touched him, he'd burst into tears and blurted out he was gay. She'd thrown her head back and laughed and, since she was more than a little drunk, she'd told him her secret. He hadn't believed her and she'd had to slice her hand open so he could watch it heal before he'd believed her. Since then, he'd been her closest confidant. He was close to seventy-one now but you wouldn't know that. He hadn't changed much since he was nineteen. Irene loved him dearly.

She closed the door behind her and grinned with anticipation. She couldn't wait to tell him about Elena. As if on cue, the phone rang. Irene pounced on it, yanking it to her ear and grinned as Ruben's big voice boomed down the line.  
_  
"Rina, baby doll, is that you?"  
_  
She smiled at his nickname for her. "It's me, Rubes. How're you doing?"

_"I'm fit as a fiddle,"_ he said into her ear. _"Nothin' can kill me. How're you doin'?"_

She twirled the phone's cord around her finger. "I'm great."

_"Still beautiful then?"_

She chuckled, easing herself onto the kitchen counter. "So you _do_ think I'm beautiful? Which team you swinging for these days, old man?"

_"Still the pink team,"_ he retorted. _"You have to remember that I was willin' to give women a chance after layin' eyes on you."  
_  
"I'm flattered."

_"Don' let it be goin' to your head. How do ya like the house?"_

"It's perfect. I love it."

Ruben's voice was smug. _"I thought ya would. Speaking of the pink team though, found any men yet?"  
_  
Damon's face and sexy smirk popped into her mind. "One has caught my eye," she admitted. "Unfortunately there are two problems."

_"Ah, now what would that be?"_

"Firstly: he's a vampire."

Ruben's booming laughter rang down the telephone line. _"Rina, baby doll, that shouldn't bother ya a bit."  
_  
"I'm _vampire _hunter, Ruben."

_"So what?"_ Ruben wanted to know. _"You don' think a hunter enjoys his catch? You jus' happen to enjoy it before you kill it. No 'arm done."  
_  
_Well, when you put it like that…_ Of course that wasn't the only issue. "There's another problem though," she said. "He's in love with someone else."

_"Do ya love him?" _

Irene chuckled. "I barely know him. I just like to look at him. But you don't know who he's in love with, Ruben."

_"It don' matter. There ain't no way she's hotter than you are, Rina."_

"Thanks for the vote of confidence but in this case you're wrong. She's a Petrova doppelganger, Ruben," she said, lowering her voice. "The _human _doppelganger."

There was a moment of silence then Ruben asked quietly, _"What did ya say?"_

"You heard me."

_"Are you sure? I thought ya said Klaus killed Katherine's family."_

She didn't correct his statement; it hadn't been Klaus. "Apparently he missed one."

_"Well, heck,"_ Ruben said after a moment, _"if she looks like Katherine then you ain't got nothin' to worry about."_

"Thanks, Rubes, but that's not really my biggest worry. I have to protect her. If Klaus gets her, he can break the curse. He'll become stronger and I really can't have that happen." Her eyes closed. "It's hard enough without him being a werewolf on top of everything."

_"You really drew the short straw on this deal, didn't ya, baby doll?"_

"It wasn't a matter of drawing straws, Rubes. I don't want to talk about it." Irene glanced at the clock above the stove and swore. It was nearly seven and she hadn't even started getting ready yet. "I have to go. I have to be at the school by seven-thirty."

_"Alrighty, sweetheart,"_ Ruben said. He sounded hurt. _"Love ya. Call soon."_

"I will."

Irene hung up and felt a fleeting moment of guilt. Ruben wanted to know what had happened to her family but she couldn't tell him. It may have been nine-hundred years ago but it still felt raw, like it had happened yesterday. _I wish I could tell him_, she thought as she moved into her bedroom. The walls were painted a pale, lemony yellow and the big windows faced onto the trees behind the house. It was the biggest room in the entire house, taking up the whole back of the house.

Walking straight up to her closet, Irene flung open the doors and yanked out a pair of leggings, a dark green blouse and a pair of flat ballet pumps. She shimmied into the leggings and pulled the blouse over her head. It was simple and very feminine with ruffling around her breasts. Irene glanced at the clock and cursed again.

It was seven.

She shoved her feet into her black pumps and raced to her dressing table. She dragged a brush through her hair, leaving it wavy. There was no time to style it. She swiped clear gloss along her lips and smudged some mascara onto her eyelashes. She grabbed a dark blue blazer from her cupboard, pulled it on and raced into the kitchen.

It was quarter past seven.

Irene tore her way through an apple and downed a glass of water. That would have to do. It was twenty past seven. She grabbed her bag and raced out the door, not bothering to lock it behind her.

It was a ten minute walk to the high school and Irene jogged most of it. She burst through the front door at exactly half past seven. The school was mostly empty. Only a few early comers trickled in. Taking a minute to smooth down her hair, she walked up to the front desk. A grey-haired old woman manned the front desk. She peered up at Irene suspiciously through horn-rimmed glasses.

"Can I help you?" she asked somewhat snippily. "Are you a new student?"

She gave the older woman her most polite smile, extending her hand. "My name is Irene Miller. I'm the new student teacher."

"You don't look old enough to be a teacher," the old woman informed her.

Her eyes hardened and Irene withdrew her hand. "I'm a _student _teacher, ma'am. I'm here to learn."

"Humph." The old woman clicked away at her computer screen and frowned. "Yes, here it is, Ms Miller. You're going to be under Mr Saltzman's tutelage. Mr Saltzman's classroom is upstairs, second door on your right." She handed Irene a stack of papers. "You'll need to fill these out. Have them on my desk by the end of the day."

"Thank you, ma'am," she said, taking the papers. "I'll have them finished as soon as possible."

"See that you do, girl." The old woman sniffed derisively. "You'd better get going. You're late."

Irene resisted the urge to snap that school hadn't even started yet. _Uptight bitch_, she thought as she hurried up the stairs. Irene was oblivious to the stares she received from the students, who were filling up the hallways at a rapid rate. When she came to Mr Saltzman's classroom, she took a deep breath and knocked on the door. She glanced at her watch and noted she was ten minutes late. Irene chewed at her lower lip and prayed he wasn't like the old receptionist downstairs.

"Come in," a deep, surprisingly pleasant voice called. "It's open."

Irene pushed the door open and stepped into a light, empty classroom. Mr Saltzman was looking out the window at the teenagers rushing to class. His silhouette was tall and rangy. She cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Mr Saltzman. I had some… issues I had to deal with last night. I was a little rushed for time this morning."

"So I heard," he mused. He turned around and Irene guessed him to be in his early thirties, maybe late twenties. He was handsome in a rugged, lumberjack kind of way. "You've caused something of a stir."

Irene frowned. "Excuse me, sir?"

"Call me Ric, Irene." He held out his hand. "We didn't get a chance to meet last night."

Her face cleared and she grasped his hand. "The vampire hunting history teacher?"

"Don't ask how I ended up rescuing a vampire."

"I won't if you don't twenty questions me. I got enough of that from Damon last night." She sighed and shifted the papers in her arms. "Can I put these down somewhere?"

"My desk," he said, gesturing to it. "So, Damon drilled you?"

Irene dumped the papers on his desk. "You bet. Quit charming, isn't he?"

"He grows on you," Ric assured her.

"I doubt it."

Ric chuckled and decided he liked Irene. "You caused quite a commotion when you disappeared from the Boarding House this morning."

"They'll get over it. I told Damon I was leaving first thing in the morning." She arranged the papers in a neat pile then turned to face him. "What am I doing first, Ric?"

"How's your history?"

"Flawless," she boasted. "As if I was there."

"Good because you're taking my first class."

* * *

Elena walked briskly through the hallways. She'd wanted to get to class early and catch Ric alone but she'd been distracted by Stefan this morning. She smiled slightly at the thought then saw the time and cursed slightly. She was late. When she'd finally managed to get downstairs, she'd discovered Irene wasn't in her bedroom. Panicking, she gone to find Damon, who was in the kitchen brewing coffee, and informed him that their vampire hunter was gone. He'd laughed bitterly and said he already knew. His reaction had confused her. He'd been angry. She hadn't asked him why. He'd have chewed her head off, besides she was still angry at him for feeding Stefan blood. It wasn't his call to make but he'd made it anyway. Typical Damon. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out, scowling when she saw who the message was from. _Speak of the devil._

It read: **Any sign of her yet? – D**

She typed out her reply. **I'm at school, Damon. Why would she be here?**

**You'd be surprised.**** Keep your eyes open and be careful, so the opposite of what you did last time.**

"Jerk," she muttered.

She put her phone away and wished, desperately, that Stefan was with her. He'd told her he wanted to be sure he could control himself before he attempted to go to school. Elena understood but missed him anyway. He always knew what to say to make her feel better. Elena paused by her locker and quickly rootled in it for her history book. She found it and, slamming her locker shut, raced off to class. Ric may be her friend but in school he was her teacher and he wasn't above giving her detention. She burst into the classroom, face flushed and slightly out of breath, and her mouth dropped open. What was _she_ doing here?

"Ms Gilbert, I assume?" Irene asked, sounding amused, and Elena nodded. "I'm Ms Miller, your new student teacher. Please take a seat so we can get started."

Elena opened her mouth but Irene shook her head as if to say later. She took her seat in front of Stefan's empty one and pulled out her cell phone, keeping it discreetly in her lap. Damon, it seemed, was right as per usual. Her gaze darted to Irene and she marvelled at how different she looked. She typed out a quick message to Damon.

**I found her. – E**

Hopefully Damon would get her message soon. She pulled out her pencil and began doodling on her notepad, like she usually did in history. Her pictures soon turned to notes as Irene's rich, slightly accented voice made history seem exciting. Irene spoke animatedly, voice dipping and hands flying through the air. Her class was strangely quietly and Elena glanced around, surprised. The girls were listening attentively; the boys were, not so subtly, drooling over their new teacher.

"Jesus she's hot," a boy to her right whispered to his friend. He was a jock with about as many brain cells as a fruit fly. "Look at her ass, dude."

"I know," his friend whispered back, practically drooling. "You could bounce a quarter off her."

Elena saw Irene stiffen before she whirled around, light eyes drilling into them. "Do you two have anything you'd like to share?"

Both boys paled. "No, miss."

"Does my lesson bore you?" she asked.

"No, miss."

"Then I'd appreciate it if you focused on the board and not my ass," she said flatly. There were a few scattered giggles. Both boys turned bright red and nodded fervently. "Thank you. Now if we can continue."

Elena hid her amusement, ducking her head behind her history book. She wanted to like Irene, and she had a feeling it wouldn't be hard, but then she began to wonder how she'd managed to hear those two morons. Elena was right to next to them and she'd had trouble hearing them. Her brow furrowed. There was something odd about Irene Miller. Elena's phone buzzed in her pocket, snapping her out of her thoughts, and she jumped slightly. Glancing at the teacher before she pulled it out. It was Damon.

**Where? – D**

She quickly typed a reply: **She's the new student teacher Ric was talking about.**

**I'm on my way.**

**Don't cause a scene, Damon.**

**I never do. ;)**

Elena groaned. Why had she told Damon? It was just going to make problems. The bell rang with a shrilling shriek and everyone quickly packed up their things, exiting the classroom. The spell Irene had cast over the classroom was broken. Elena hung back, waiting until all the students had left to their next class. Irene sat at her desk, studying a pile of papers, nibbling on the end of her pen. She didn't appear to notice Elena was still there.

"You have some answering to do, _Ms Miller_," Elena said.

"Oh, do I?" Irene asked wryly. She filled something in, not even bothering to look up. "I wasn't aware I owed you anything, Elena."

"I saved your life."

"After I saved yours," Irene pointed out.

"How did you hear them?"

Irene glanced up, eyebrows creasing. "Excuse me?"

"Earlier in class when you caught those two boys whispering," Elena said impatiently. "How did you hear them? I could barely hear them and I was right next to them."

"Voices carry, Elena."

"No," Elena said stubbornly. "There's something you're not telling me."

Irene leaned back in her chair. "There's quite a lot I'm not telling you but that's because it's none of your business. Now I suggest you go to class."

"I'm not done –"

"While you are in this classroom I am your teacher and you will treat me as such." Her face softened slightly. "It's better this way, Elena. There are things out there far bigger than Mystic Falls and the Salvatores. I'm not the one you should be worrying about."

"I don't know that though."

Irene shrugged. "That's your problem, not mine."

"Please, just tell me."

"No, Elena. Knowledge is dangerous. The minute you know something of value you become a target."

Elena jutted her chin out stubbornly. "Why does everyone seem to think I can't handle things?"

"Because they love you, Elena," Irene said. "Open your eyes and look around. There are people all around you who are willing to die for you. You need to be careful, not for you, for them. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Elena nodded, slightly cowed. "Good. Now you'd better hurry to your next class. You're already late."

Elena hurried out of the classroom. _She's right_, Elena thought. _I _am _being selfish. _She hung her head in shame. She needed to start thinking about those around her, about Stefan and Caroline and Bonnie and Matt and even Damon. They were all willing to die for her, or could die because of her. Pushing open the door to her English classroom, Elena apologized to her teacher –who thankfully was still sympathetic towards Elena– and took her seat beside Bonnie's empty one. The sight of that empty chair made her feel horrible and cold and uncaring. _What am I becoming?_

* * *

Damon leant against the face brick wall by the school's entrance. His foot tapped impatiently against the concrete stairs as he waited for everyone to go to class so he could go find Irene. She had some things to answer for, like why she'd disappeared this morning. He couldn't describe the disappointment he'd felt when he woke up and she was gone. Last night had been strange. He couldn't remember the last time, if ever, he'd sat down with a girl and just talked – especially a half-dressed, insanely hot one. Normally, they were sorority girls and they were there solely for his amusement and for his hunger and for his pleasure. His dream had left him in a bad mood, finding out she was missing had worsened it. Right now Damon was willing to charge into the school and snap the necks of any student or faculty member who got in his way.

Finally, the halls quietened and Damon blurred through the school, stopping by Ric's open classroom door. The sight that greeted him was a beautiful one. Irene was sitting at Ric's desk, staring intently at a pile of papers. The winter sun shone weakly through the windows, catching her golden hair, making it shimmer. She wore a modest dark green blouse but when she leaned over Damon caught snatches of her full breasts. He watched as she chewed on the end of her pen. The way her full lips clamped around the rounded tip spiked heat in his groin.

Leaning casually against the door frame, he said, "Ma'am, I have a question."

Her head shot up and her light brown eyes landed on him, dipped down quickly before making their way back up to his face. He smirked –he knew she liked what she saw– and sauntered up to her to desk, edging a hip onto the edge. Irritated with herself for having been caught staring, Irene looked down at her papers and tried to ignore him, hoping he'd leave. She did _not _have time for this.

"What are you doing here, Salvatore?" she snapped eventually when he didn't move.

"I have a question."

Rolling her eyes, Irene stood, grabbed a cloth, and began cleaning the whiteboard. "What is it with you people? You're all so goddamn curious."

"Well, you see, sugar," he drawled sexily, watching her clean, "you are something of a fascination. This is a sleepy little town and when someone new comes to play, we all want to know what toys they have."

"Oh?" Her voice was low and smoky. It made his blood hum. She turned to face him. The look on her face was dangerous. "And what if I don't want to share? Maybe I _like _playing by myself."

Her words went to straight to his groin and he nearly groaned. Damon flashed around the desk, caging her against the whiteboard, hands planted on the white surface on either side of her head. "That isn't fair, Miller," he whispered in her ear. "I'm the only one allowed to play dirty."

Her lips curved, eyes became hot. "Aren't you up to the challenge? I thought you were tough, Salvatore."

His arms wound around her waist and he yanked her against him. A small gasp tore from her lips. "What can I say? I'm a liar."

Her fingers splayed against his chest, not pushing, just feeling. "I've heard that before."

"And you didn't take the warning?"

"I've never been very good at listening." Her hips brushed against his. The air crackled between them. "I prefer to learn the hard way."

"I'm an expert at that." The perfume coming off her skin made his mouth water. He flicked his tongue along the edge of her jaw, causing shudders throughout her body. "You taste heavenly, sugar."

She stiffened. "Thanks." Sarcasm dripped from her lips and she pushed him away with enough force that he actually stumbled. "And I was just beginning to enjoy myself."

"Don't get nasty. That's the highest compliment from a vampire."

Despite the fire raging beneath the surface, she managed to seem unfazed. That had been too close. "I'll try to remember that next time. Now get out, I'm working."

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to be nasty to a vampire?"

And just like that a blind dropped over her eyes. Her face was carefully blank. "My mother's dead."

"I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, mine is too."

She chuckled at him but her eyes didn't light up. "Thanks. I feel _much_ better now."

He stepped closer to her. "I was just trying to be nice."

She gulped, trying to resist the urge to step back. "Why?"

"Isn't that what you're supposed to do when someone tells you their mother's dead?" He took another step towards her. Damon was so close now that he could see her pupils dilate. "Do you want me to stop?"

"It won't work," she said breathlessly as his lips pressed against her neck. "I'm a vampire hunter and you're a vampire."

"Mhmmm," he murmured against the soft skin under her ear. _Why is her skin so soft? _"That does present a problem."

She tried to clear her head. It wasn't easy. "You're in love with Elena, Damon."

That hit a nerve. Damon jerked away from her. "How did you know that?"

"It's obvious. I knew it from the moment you thanked me for saving her life." Sighing deeply, Damon leaned against her desk and a few seconds later she joined him, crossing her arms over her chest, watching him out the corner of her eye. "She doesn't feel the same way, does she?"

"I'm beginning to understand why you won't answer any of my questions," he grumbled.

"Annoying, isn't it?"

"Extremely."

"I'm sorry, Damon." She bumped his hips with hers. "If it's any consolation, I know how you feel."

He grinned at her. "Smartass."

"I try." She shoved him off her desk and sat down, picking up her pen. "Now, I really do have work to do. So if that's all, could you please bugger off?"

"We're not finished yet," Damon protested.

"When you're ready to answer my questions, I'll answer yours."

"That's not how this works."

"Oh, really?" She began filling in her piece of paper. "Then how does this work?"

"You tell me what I want to know and I don't kill you."

Glancing up at him, Irene pursed her lips. "You're going to kill me?"

Damon shrugged. "I don't really want to."

"Another compliment?" she said with a smirk. "People are going to think you're going soft."

"I don't really care what other people think."

"You're lying again," she mused.

"How can you tell?"

She batted her eyelashes coquettishly. "It's a gift."

Damon chuckled as Irene went back to filling in the forms that old bat from reception had given her. They were a pain in her ass but she had to get them done. It was basically security stuff –her ID number, name, middle name, surname, birthdate– but it was a pain in her ass. It was hard, trying to remember details about a person you weren't.

She had forgotten Damon was there until he spoke up. "Why are you here?"

"I already told you." Her tone was mildly irritated. Why did he keep pushing? "I have a class in ten minutes and I really want to get as much of this done as I can."

"Then answer my question."

"I have, Damon."

"I want the truth," he pushed.

"You're annoying me. I become quite violent when I'm annoyed."

"Then answer me."

Irene stood up, slamming her hands onto her desk. "It's really none of your business, Salvatore. Now get out or your life is about to get very painful."

Enjoying her irritation, Damon hopped off the desk. "I'll be back when you're in a better mood, sugar."

He strolled out, whistling, and Irene sunk back into her chair. She buried her face in her hands and groaned. Damon, though he was gorgeous, was a pain in her ass. He was persistent and Irene had a feeling he wouldn't be fobbed off as easily as Elena.

* * *

**Please let me know what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey everyone! This chapter sort of just flowed from the last one.**

**- imaginationismymuse x**

* * *

_Chapter five_

Damon was still humming when he walked up the front steps of his house. He'd enjoyed talking to Irene, enjoyed the feeling of her body against his, enjoyed it a little too much. She was addictive. Normally Damon would have no problem seducing her but he had to know why she was here first. He had to know if she meant Elena any harm, or if she was lying and was planning on purging this town of vampires. If that was true then he would have to kill her. There was no way he was dying, not for her, not for anyone. He'd already done that once and it hadn't ended like he'd planned. Damon pushed open the front door and froze as the scent of blood hit him.

"Fuck." Not bothering to shut the door behind him, he followed the smell up to his bedroom, narrowing his eyes at the sight that greeted him. "What the hell are you doing?"

Stefan dropped the half empty blood bag and it splattered messily over the floorboards. "I... I don't know."

"You don't _know_?" Damon spat.

In under a second he had his brother pinned against a wall. The blood made him aware of his own hunger. His bad mood returned with a vengeance. His fangs extended, veins rippling out from underneath his eyes. He took in the floor littered with blood bags and snarled, pressing his arm against Stefan's throat.

"You drank all my blood bags, you prick."

"You left them lying around," Stefan accused, despite having recently drunken human blood he was no match for his older brother. "Why are you trying to drive me over the edge? Why is it so important to you that I lose control?"

Damon laughed mirthlessly. "Slow down there, Stef. I'm not doing anything of the sort. These are _my _blood bags I keep in _my _fridge in _my _room. This is your problem and _you_ need to fix it."

"I'm fine." Damon gave him 'who do you think you're kidding' stare and Stefan sighed, hanging his head. "Okay, I'm having problems but I've got it under control."

"_Really_?" he asked sarcastically, releasing his brother. "It doesn't look like it to me."

Stefan stiffened. "I'm working on it."

"Does Elena know?"

"No, and she doesn't need to." Stefan rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't want her to worry."

Damon scoffed at his words. "You mean you don't want her to be disgusted when she realizes you're no different than the rest of us."

"I'm not like you, Damon," Stefan said vehemently.

"No, brother," Damon agreed. He clapped Stefan on the shoulder. "You're much, _much_ worse."

* * *

Irene leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes tiredly. School was finished but Ric had asked if she'd help mark his students' papers. She was regretting saying yes now. It was nearly five o'clock and she was only half way through her pile. Last night was catching up with her. She smothered a yawn. She needed to sleep before she passed out on this desk. Shaking her head, she tried to focus on the words on the paper but the words swam around the page like alphabet soup.

"You can go, you know?" Ric said as he walked back into the classroom, two steaming cups of coffee in his hands.

"I said I'd help." She took a small sip from the mug he handed her and smiled. "Thanks."

"It's a pleasure."

Sipping from her coffee, Irene hunched back over her marking. It wasn't a task that could be hurried. She had to think about every mark she gave, had to make sure she was being fair. It was hard to be fair when you were this exhausted though.

"Damon seems to think you've got another agenda," Ric said after a while.

"Oh," she muttered.

Ric placed a paper he'd finished marking on the pile. "Do you?"

"No." Irene rubbed her temples, eyeing his nearly finished pile enviously. "I don't know how you do this every day."

"Deal with Damon or mark papers?" he joked.

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Both."

"The marking gets easier with time." Ric leaned back in his chair, sipping thoughtfully from his mug. "With Damon I find it's best just to come clean. He has a knack for getting what he wants and if he finds out you've been hiding something…" Ric shook his head. "Let's just say he won't be pleased."

"I don't really care if he's pleased with me or not."

"He won't think twice about killing you," Ric warned.

"And I won't think twice about staking him if he tries." She glanced up at him. "You think I'm hiding something, don't you?"

"I think everyone has a few secrets."

Irene raised an eyebrow. "Are you always this diplomatic?"

"Someone has to be," he replied with a shrug.

She grinned at him. "It's comforting to know at least one person around here isn't a psychopath."

Ric chuckled. "Thanks. Now go home before you fall asleep at that desk."

"I'm not done yet," she protested.

"I can finish the last few."

Irene hesitated, torn. "Are you sure, Ric? I don't mind staying."

He waved her protests away. "Just go."

"Okay. Thank you." She graced him with a smile, a proper one. "You're a good guy, Ric. I don't know how you got caught up in this mess."

Ric watched her leave and tried his hardest not to let his gaze wander to her ass. It wasn't his fault though. She was beautiful, very beautiful. Jenna's face popped into his head and he quickly banished any thoughts of Irene. He went back to marking, whizzing through the papers as quickly and efficiently as he could. He wanted to visit the Gilbert house, and Jenna, before he went home.

* * *

Irene gave a shiver as she walked down the dark, leafy street. She clutched her blazer closer around her. It didn't help much. Next time she vowed she'd go for warmth rather than what looked nice. She watched the orange sun sink behind the tree line. It coloured the clouds in soft shades of gold and pink and purple, and reminded her of Romania, her birthplace. Irene remembered the tall, dark trees and the cold winter nights spent sitting around the fireplace with her family. Irene swallowed the lump in her throat and quickly banished the thought. Even after all this time, she had never been back to Romania. She was afraid of what she'd find. She was scared that she wouldn't recognize anything, that her childhood memories would be gone. She needed those. They were all she had left.

Irene pushed open the front door and went inside her small, cosy cottage. Her mind was already thinking about a hot bath in the big old, bronze tub. She was getting tingles just thinking about it. Irene went straight to her bedroom, slipping her feet out of her shoes and shrugging off her blazer. She was just unbuttoning her blouse when her cell phone rang from inside her bag. She dug it out quickly, cursing whoever it was. She wanted to prune, not talk.

"What is it?" she snapped.

_"I see you're still in a foul mood."  
_  
Irene felt a headache formed between her eyes. "I don't have time for you, Salvatore."  
_  
"Ouch, sugar."_

She doubted he was really offended but she apologized anyway. "Sorry. I only just got home from work. I'm not in the mood for friendly conversations." Another thought occurred to her. "How did you get this number anyway?"

_"Ric gave it to me. I need your help."  
_  
"I thought you didn't trust me?" she asked, stripping off her leggings. "Changed your mind?"

_"No,"_ he said and she could almost hear his smirk, _"b__ut I've decided I'll worry about it later. I have a little vampire problem and I think you may be able to help."_

Irene eased herself onto the bed, intrigued. Damon didn't seem like the type that asked for help often. "I'm listening."

_"Stefan, my stupid, stubborn little brother, is having a blood problem and I need –"_

"I'm not going to kill him," she said sharply, "if that's what you're getting at."

_"It's not."_ She heard the slosh of whiskey being poured into a glass. _"I was wondering if you had any experience in dealing with vampires who've lost control. You know, being a vampire hunter and all."_

She finished unbuttoning her blouse, letting it fall to the floor. "You're going to have to be a little more specific."

_"Stefan has this habit of only drinking animal blood. It's got something to do with morals and being a better person."_ Damon sounded disgusted, as if it were a bad thing._ "Anyway, when we rescued him yesterday I fed him human blood. It was partly selfish. I need him to be strong if we're going to deal with those pesky tomb vampires."_

"I see. And now he's having control problems?"

_"Bingo, blondie."_

Irene felt her hackles rise. "Don't call me that." She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. _Stay calm, Irene. _She tried again. "I'm sorry, Damon, but I don't know how to help him. I've never heard of a vampire who didn't drink human blood. The best advice I can give is tell him to exercise self-control. If human's can diet, so can he."

_"It's a little different for us," _Damon said patronisingly.

"You asked for my help," she pointed out. Her tone was snippier than she'd have liked but her bath was calling to her. "Take it or leave it."

_"I didn't realize it'd be completely useless."_

That was the final straw. Tired and grumpy, she ground out, "Listen here, Salvatore. I don't know who you think you are but you don't talk to me like that. I am _not _someone whose bad side you want to be on. Keep that in mind."

Irene hung up and took a few seconds to calm herself down, inhaling and exhaling deeply. She forced her body to relax. It wasn't often she showed her temper or raised her voice but it had been a very long day and Damon had pushed her too far. It seemed he had a knack for pushing people's buttons. Pulling off her underwear and putting on a short, white dressing gown to cover her nakedness, Irene stomped to the bathroom and turned on the taps. Soon steam filled the small room, mixed with the scent of her scented bath salts. It smelled heavenly and as the lavender filled her nostrils, she felt herself calm.

She eased herself into the hot water and sunk down until only her head wasn't submerged. A moan slipped past her lips as she felt the aches ease from her muscles. God, she needed this. Resting her head against the edge of the bathtub, Irene's mind involuntarily wandered to Damon. She remembered the way he'd looked when he'd caged her against the whiteboard and s shiver ran through her. It had been such an intense feeling, having those icy eyes focused on her, having those hands touch her. It made her wonder what else he could make her feel.

_Bad girl_, she scolded herself. _He's a vampire, not a human. _She couldn't help it though. She was human, sort of, and Damon was an extremely attractive male. It was natural… except he was a vampire. Irene groaned and ducked her head under the water. The water was uncomfortably hot on the sensitive skin on her face but it helped her forget about her attraction to Damon.

What was wrong with her?

He was a _vampire_, an infuriating, dangerously handsome vampire. She rose from the bath, gasping for breath. It hadn't worked. Damon still lingered in her brain.

* * *

Dressed in nothing but black sweatpants, Damon paced his room. He couldn't get her out of his head. Everything about her was so vibrant, so colourful. The way she moved, the way she looked, the way she talked – everything. He'd found the outburst she'd had earlier before hanging up on him hot. When she was angry, her accent became more pronounced. He couldn't place it but it was something husky and rich and sexy. Damon found it very attractive. _I'll have to make her angry more often_, he decided. What he was going to do about his attraction to her was a different matter. One he still didn't know quite how to deal with. There was a knock at his door and it opened, revealing Stefan.

Damon raised his eyebrow. "What's up, Stef?" he asked. "Come for a pep talk?"

"I heard you talking to Irene earlier. I don't need her help."

"Well," Damon said drily, "that's good news because she's useless."

"I'm fine, Damon," continued Stefan. "I have it under control."

Damon shook his head. "Stef, what you're doing isn't natural. We're vampires. We drink blood. It's what we are. You can't fight your nature."

"I can." Stefan's chin lifted. "And I will."

"It's going to backfire, brother. You aren't controlled enough."

"And you are?"

"I don't lose it every time I have a blood bag," Damon shot back. "I know how to feed on someone without killing them."

"Then why don't you?" Stefan snapped. "Why do you kill?"

Damon shrugged. "I choose to, saves time. The point is I can walk away. _You_ can't. What you have isn't control, Stefan. You're walking on a tightrope and sooner or later you're going to fall off."

Stefan clapped Damon's shoulder. "Careful, Damon, or I may start to think you actually care about me."

Damon rolled his eyes. "Cut the dramatics, Stef."

"Then stop trying to help me. I'm fine."

"Fine." He gripped the hand that covered his shoulder. Their eyes locked. "It's not my conscious that's going to take a hit if this goes south. It's yours."

* * *

When he was alone, Damon slipped into bed and switched off the side lamp. The room was bathed in darkness and the moonlight that shone through cracks in the curtain. His mind went back to Irene and he imagined what it would be like if she were in bed with him, naked. He felt himself harden slightly at the thought.

What was wrong with him?

He wasn't usually this attracted to someone but Irene was different. There was something about her, something that had nothing to do with her physical beauty, that drew him in. There was a vulnerability about her. He had only glimpsed flashes of it – when she'd told him her mother died, when he'd caged her against that wall. They were just flashes, gone so quickly he was sure he'd imagined him. It didn't match up to him. There was something she was hiding. The question on his mind was: what? What was Irene Miller hiding from him?


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey everyone! Thanks for the reviews! It's really appreciated. :) This chapter takes a place a week later. Please keep that in mind. Other than that, enjoy and let me know what you think.**

**- imaginationismymuse x**

* * *

_Chapter six_

Irene set down the final paper and a sense of achievement rose up inside her. She had finished marking. In the week she'd been here, she'd gone from marking dunce to marking pro. She didn't have a headache. Her fingers weren't seizing up. Nothing ached. She glanced at the clock. It was nearly six o'clock. Okay, she wasn't the fastest marker but at least she'd managed to finish. That was something, something she was proud of. It had been a long time since she'd been proud of herself for accomplishing something so menial, so normal. It felt like a breath of fresh air. Teaching had been a great idea. It gave her a more worthwhile purpose. She was helping people instead of hunting them. Teacher sounded much better than Keeper.

Raising her hands above her head, she arched her back, stretching, then stood up and began packing away her things, humming quietly to herself. The school was quiet. There was no one around but her. Ric had gone home at around three, jokingly saying he trusted her enough to mark the papers on her own. That wasn't the real reason –he'd been too tense for that– but Irene hadn't minded. He didn't ask her about her life, she wouldn't ask about his.

Anyway, he would have to return later that evening for the parent-teacher evening. She had the evening free and she felt like celebrating her small victory. It was a Friday night for God's sake. The only problem was that she didn't know anyone. Well, there was one person. He'd been bothering her the whole week, popping up at inconvenient times, demanding information. If she was honest, she hadn't minded… much. It was irritating but it had its amusing, and sometimes heated, moments. So, lacking a better option, she pulled out her cell phone and called him.

He picked up on the last ring. _"Changed your mind, Miller?"_

"Don't start," she warned.

_"Why else would you call?"_

"Because it's a Friday night and I've just reached a milestone," she explained, slinging her bag over her shoulder and flipping off the light switch. "I want to go out and celebrate."

_"Are you asking me on a date, sugar?"_ Damon asked – voice dangerous and sexy.

A shiver of pleasure ran up her spine but she ignored it, determined not to fall for his seduction tactics. "Aren't _you_ meant to ask _me_ out?"

His chuckle echoed in her ear. _"This is the twenty-first century, Miller."  
_  
"I happen to be old fashioned." Irene stepped out into the cool night air, wrapping her scarf around her neck. Mimicking his seductive tone, she added, "Unless, of course, you don't want me, Salvatore."

There was a slight pause. _"You're playing a dangerous game, sugar."_

"I thought you liked games," Irene pointed out, tightening the belt of her black jacket. "Can you pick me up in ten minutes?"  
_  
"Where are you?"_

"I'm at the high school." She let out a little shiver, from the cold this time. "Hurry up, Salvatore, before I get frostbite."

_"I'm on my way. Try not to freeze."_ She heard the sound of a car door slamming shut. _"Though I wouldn't mind warming you up."_

She sighed, though the thought wasn't completely displeasing. "Just move it."

_"Don't miss me too much."  
_  
He hung up and she shook her head. His arrogance should make him unattractive but it did the opposite. How he accomplished that was beyond her understanding. Damon Salvatore was complicated. She just had to figure out if she wanted to deal with complicated or not. It would be nice to have someone. She was talking purely physical though. She had no illusions. Damon loved Elena, Elena loved Stefan, and Stefan loved Elena. It was beyond her how they could do this again but she'd made the decision not to reveal what she knew so she couldn't ask without giving it away. The less people who knew about her whereabouts, the better; Klaus couldn't know she was here or he would never make an appearance.

Damon's headlight's blinded her. He watched as she blinked, looking adorably confused. It was only for a second then she was gliding towards the car. She wore heels, not ridiculously high ones but professional, school teacher ones that were somehow sexier. They made her hips sway when she walked. She was bundled up in a black jacket with the belt cinched tightly around her narrow waist. Her legs were clad in dark skinny jeans. A colourful yet hideous knit scarf was wrapped around her neck and her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail that swung sassily when she moved.

As she opened the door and climbed in, a frigid breeze swept into the car and he scowled at her. "Close that door."

She smirked but did as he'd ordered, rubbing her hands together. "Can't handle the cold, Salvatore?"

"Asks the person dressed like a polar bear," he shot back easily, reversing out the school parking lot. "That's got to be the ugliest scarf I've ever seen."

"I happen to _love _this scarf."

"It looks like the rainbow threw up on it."

Her eyes ran over his outfit. "I'm surprised you know what colour is."

"Black is a classic," he retorted.

"And you're all about class, aren't you?" she asked sarcastically then caught herself. She didn't want to spend her evening bickering, as entertaining as it was. "Can we please just spend more than five minutes in each other's company without fighting?"

"I don't know." He pulled into a parking space in front of a restaurant called the Mystic Grill. "It seems a bit of a stretch. Can we start at one minute and work our way up?"

She rolled her eyes and climbed out the car. "Don't be childish."

"I wasn't." Gripping her elbow, he led her into the restaurant. She tried not to resent him leading her about. "What are we celebrating anyway, sugar?"

"I finished my marking in one afternoon." She beamed up at him, momentarily forgetting her irritation as happiness bubbled up. "You don't understand how wonderful it feels."

He studied her. The bright eyes, the flushed cheeks, and pink, parted lips. "I can see. Wonderful suits you, Miller."

He was certain she blushed but she ducked her head before he could be sure. "Thank you," Irene muttered.

Damon led them to a table for two. He pulled out the chair for her. The action surprised her but she didn't comment. While she waited for him to sit down, she took the chance to look around. The restaurant was warm and cosy and bustling with people. It was a welcoming place. The main floor was a maze of tables and chairs. There were a few booths with tanned leather seats tucked into the corner. There was a pool table and a jukebox that played old songs she recognized. A bar made from dark brown wood stood at the back of the restaurant and nearly all its seats were full. It had something for everyone and it seemed everyone was here. The laughter and chatter nearly drowned out the music.

"Nice choice," she murmured as Damon sat down opposite her.

"Thanks, not that I had much choice though."

"I like it." Irene stripped off her scarf and jacket. "It's warm."

Damon eyed the mannish, collared purple shirt she wore unbuttoned to just below her collarbones, hiding the swell of her breasts. She had the sleeves folded up her tanned forearms and a slim, silver watch gleamed in the warm light to match the silver studs in her ears.

Irene tilted her head at him. "Why are you staring at me?"

"I'm wondering why you're wearing a shirt that hides everything."

She frowned and looked down. "I was at work. This is appropriate. Stop insulting my clothes."

"You asked."

She was about to snap back at him but a waiter with sandy brown hair appeared by their table, placing menus in front of them. Irene did a double take. It was Matt Donovan from her history class. He looked equally surprised to her.

"Ms Miller?" His eyes darted to Damon. "What are you doing here with _him_?"

She lifted her shoulders. "I'm beginning to wonder that myself, Matt."

"Ouch."

"You insulted my clothing," she growled at Damon.

"They're not flattering." Damon turned to Matt. "Don't _you_ think she'd look better in something tighter, Donovan?"

The tips of Matt's ears turned pink and he stammered, "E-excuse me?"

Because he was a sweet kid who always listened in history, Irene jumped to his rescue. "Stop terrorising my students, Salvatore, or you can eat alone."

"I was asking a valid question," Damon said remorselessly.

Ignoring him, she smiled kindly up at Matt. "Are you our waiter for the evening, Matt?"

"Yes," he said, keeping his eyes firmly on her. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"I'll have a glass of red wine –your best since Damon's paying– and a cheese hamburger."

"When did I say I was paying?" Damon demanded to know.

She arched an eyebrow. "Don't be cheap or you won't get anything."

"Oh?" Damon waggled his eyebrows. "What am I getting?"

"Nothing at this rate."

"I'll pay _but_ I want you in my bed."

Matt's mouth dropped open but Irene didn't react other than sighing heavily. "Just order, Salvatore, before I die of old age."

"I'll have a whiskey."

Scribbling the order down, Matt nodded and scurried away, not wanting to hang around that table any longer. It was just too weird for him. The sexual tension, and _normal_ tension, between those two made _him _nervous. On the way to the kitchen he ran into Elena, who was coming out the bathroom.

"Hey, Matt," she greeted him, giving him a quick, tight hug. "How're you doing?"

"I'm fine, you know, all things considered." His sister's body had just been found, confirming his worst fears that she hadn't run away. "What's going on with Damon and Ms Miller?"

Elena looked taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"Take a look."

Elena followed where he was pointing and her eyes landed on Damon and Irene. "Is he _laughing_?"

He was. "Are they together?" Matt asked.

"He hasn't said anything to me," Elena reluctantly admitted – why hadn't he told her?

"They look like it. Well, I have to go and place their order." He gave Elena a quick, one armed hug. "See you later, Elena."

"Yeah," she said vaguely, watching Damon reach across the table and tug on Irene's ponytail. She hurried back to the booth and slipped in beside Stefan. "Have you seen your brother?"

Stefan nodded. He'd been watching them intently to distract himself from the sound of blood rushing through veins. "I don't know what to make of it. He seems… _happy_."

"Are they together?"

"He's been having sorority girls over." Stefan watched as Irene placed a well-aimed kick to Damon's shin and grinned – maybe she'd be good for his brother. "I don't think she's the type who would take that kind of thing."

"Then what's going on?" Elena wanted to know.

"I don't know." Stefan's hands tightened around the edge of the table. The child at the table next to them had cut his finger on a knife. "Elena, can we go to your house?"

Her attention was immediately on him; his face was pinched as if he were in pain. She spotted the child with the bloody finger and was on her feet in the next second. "Of course, let's go."

"I'm sorry," he murmured, helping her with her jacket. "I didn't want to ruin your evening."

"I understand." Elena wound her arm through Stefan's and looked up at him, eyes twinkling mischievously. "I can think of plenty of things we can do at my house."

"Play checkers?" he joked as they stepped out into the cold night and Stefan breathed in the cool night hair, feeling better now that he could no longer smell the blood.

"Not quite what I had in mind," Elena replied and reached up, cupping his face, pulling his lips to hers.

Back inside, Damon tensed. Irene watched him carefully. His jaw was wound so tightly she was sure she could bounce a ball off of it, and she knew why. She'd been able to make out some of Elena and Stefan's conversation and she guessed what they were doing now. Reaching across the table, she placed her hand on his and his attention swerved onto her.

"You okay?" she asked.

He nodded. Irene recognized the carefully blanked features, the perfect poker face. It was like looking in a mirror. She sighed. It seemed as if her celebratory dinner, which had been enjoyable, was over. Hijacked by Elena drama. Stupid doppelgangers. Couldn't they just go one night without causing someone pain? Just one night. A live band stepped onto a small stage near the bar and began testing their instruments. She grinned. _Perfect._

"Do you want to dance?"

He nearly spat a mouthful of whiskey he'd been sipping all over her. "Excuse me?"

"I want to dance with you." She struggled not to laugh at his dumbstruck expression. "Why do you look so shocked?"

"_Can_ you dance?"

A confident smile curved her full lips and she stood up. "Let me show you, Salvatore."

"You're going to embarrass yourself."

Pulling her hairband out, she tossed her hair saucily. "Feel to join me when you're convinced."

Irene felt his eyes on her –and revelled in it, in the power she felt– as she strode onto the dance floor, which was really just a small space someone had cleared of chairs and tables. She swayed to the music, getting a feel for it. It was a combination of modern and old, light hearted and fun, perfect for dancing with someone, perfect for forgetting. That's what Damon needed to do, he needed to forget, to let go.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned, expecting it to be Damon. Her face fell when she saw it was a pretty young man whose eyes sparkled brightly and without care. This boy had never suffered, not like she had, she could tell. He was probably her age but she felt so much older than nineteen – she'd sure as hell lived long enough.

"Care to dance?" the young man asked.

His expression was so eager she couldn't bring herself to say no. What would it hurt to give his ego a little boost? "Sure… Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Peter," he introduced himself. "And yours?"

"Irene."

"That's really pretty," he complimented, lightly grasping her hand. "It suits you."

Charmed, she gave his hand a squeeze. "Thanks, Peter."

He placed a hand gently on her waist and she rested hers on his shoulder and they began to dance. Irene was pleasantly surprised as they moved around the small space. He wasn't a brilliant dancer but he could keep time and he enjoyed himself. They chatted and Irene found herself laughing at his stories or jokes. He was unpretentious, straightforward. There was no spark between them –he was a nice, entertaining kid but he was a kid to her– as he whisked her around the dance floor but that didn't mean his company wasn't enjoyable.

Peter spun her out and she closed her eyes letting the motion carry her. Her eyes snapped open when she was caught against a hard, muscular body, a body that definitely wasn't Peter's. Her head tilted up and her breath hitched. _Damon_. His hand rested on her lower back, pressing her against him.

"I see you manned up." She placed her hand on his shoulder and they began to move. "What made you change your mind?"

"That kid was practically drooling all over you."

She laughed lightly. "Jealous, Salvatore?"

Damon scoffed but pulled her closer, drawing a near silent gasp from her lips. "Jealousy's for the unattractive."

"So, was it my dancing skills?"

"Definitely not."

He twirled her like a ballerina and she lost herself, hair flying out behind her, cheeks flushed with joy. She had forgotten how much she enjoyed dancing. Even when she was little, she'd dance around the campfire outside the colourfully painted caravan that served as her family's home. Her father would play his fiddle and her mother the tambourine. Irene and her siblings would spin round and round, forgetting that they were often cold and hungry.

"Tired of wallowing in self-pity then?" she asked a little breathlessly, coming back to reality.

Hurt flickered briefly in his blue eyes, and she knew she'd hit the mark, then it was gone and he scoffed at her. "Wallowing's for thirteen-year old girls."

She tightened her grip on his hand, forcing him to look at her. "It's okay to hurt, Damon."

"It's a waste of time," he argued. "Nothing good ever comes from hurting."

"It's one of those annoying facts of life."

"I can turn it off though, sugar." He pulled her off the dance floor, keeping his hand on her lower back. An action she found she detested more and more every time he did it. "Your food's ready."

"That's the easy way out," she said as they sat down.

He didn't reply and she was distracted by the food. She hadn't eaten since lunch time and the smell of the hot meal made her stomach growl. She was sure she was drooling. Using both hands to pick it up, Irene took a large bite from her cheese burger and chomped on it noisily. It was blissful. Then she noticed Damon watching her and swallowed quickly, feeling self-conscious. She must look like a pig. Damon grinned at her embarrassment.

"You're disgusting," he commented, reaching over and wiping a glob of tomato sauce off her chin with his thumb.

"_Thanks_."

His thumb brushed across her lower lip and it trembled slightly under his touch. Something changed as electricity jumped between them and Irene jerked away, looking down at her food. It made her angry. It made her feel like a wimp. Why had she done that? Her mind gave her a thousand reasons but none of them seemed good enough. Why couldn't she just let herself go? Ruben thought it was okay. Why couldn't she just let herself have what she wanted?

Her stomach rumbled and she pushed away her thoughts, digging into her food. The hamburger really was delicious, so was the wine. Food and alcohol – they were the world's best distractions and right now she needed a distraction from the dangerously handsome vampire sitting across the table.

Damon was confused, aroused. He wanted Irene, wanted her so badly his whole body ached. He wanted her writhing beneath him, wanted her to dance with him, wanted her to snap at him, wanted her to make him laugh. He'd never wanted that from anyone before, except Katherine. When they'd danced, Elena seemed like a distant memory to him. It wasn't meant to be like that. He watched as she polished off her hamburger, lips smacking with satisfaction. It shouldn't've turned him on but it did and he intended to find out why. When she was done, he stood up and threw some money onto the table.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked.

She looked at him. Their eyes held, heated. She nodded quickly and grabbed her things. "Leave a good tip. Matt deserves it after you put him on the spot like that."

"Fine," Damon grumbled and chucked more notes onto the table. "Happy?"

Irene pulled on her jacket and wound her scarf around her neck. "I love how willing you are to help people."

"It's my only redeeming quality."

"Thank God you have at least one," Irene said as they stepped out into the cold. "I thought you were cold and uncaring."

"I am."

Irene laughed jauntily and wound her arm through his, leaning against him. "I think you'd like to think so."

"Come on," he said, opening the passenger door for her. "Let's get you home before you say something that makes me kill you."

She climbed into the car and allowed him to close the door. "You wouldn't kill me."

"Oh?" He jumped into the driver's seat, started the car, and reversed out the parking space. "I think you're overestimating how much I value human life."

Resisting the urge to point out that she wasn't human, Irene shrugged. "I think you're jealous."

"Of what?" he asked sceptically.

"Of humans."

He snorted. "And _why _would I be jealous of humans?"

She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, breathing in his cool, fresh scent. "This, Damon," she whispered. "You miss _this_."

"I can do _this _as a vampire."

"It's not the same." Irene leaned back. _Believe me, I know._ "Once you don't have to worry about dying, life becomes less vital. Small things like having someone put their head on your shoulder seem menial because there'll always be time for it."

Damon glanced down at her, eyes winking with humour. "And why's that so important when it comes to having sex?"

She punched him lightly on the shoulder. "We weren't talking about sex, Salvatore."

"It was heading in that direction," he said as they pulled up outside her house and nodded to her front door, waggling his eyebrows. "Shall we continue in that direction?"

"Maybe one day I'll invite you in." She climbed out the car and grinned at him. "Not tonight though. I'm not going to be your rebound. Go find a sorority girl to soothe your ego."

"I don't want a sorority girl," he grumbled, "and my ego's just fine."

"We don't always get what we want."

"_I_ do."

Because he looked so arrogant –and so unbelievably hot while doing it– she leaned back into the car and gave him a peck on the cheek. It was meant to be quick and sweet. A teaser, if you will.

It was a mistake.

As soon as she pulled away, his hand gripped the back of her neck, trapping her. Before she could protest his lips crashed against hers and all logic left her mind. His lips were firm and relentless as they moved against hers. It wasn't kind and it wasn't sweet. It was explosive, like a volcano. The fire burned through her.

His tongue plundered her mouth, tangling with hers. It was just like he'd imagined. No, it was more. He could taste the wine on her tongue, could've gotten drunk from that alone. Her mouth was soft against his. It wasn't weak or helpless though. It wasn't in her to roll over and relinquish control. She was like an open flame. Everything he gave, she only matched.

He heard her moan, deep and throaty and needy. The sound reverberated through him, spiking heat throughout his entire body. It was so intense it scorched him. He tore his lips from hers and just stared at her. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and the light brown seemed nearly gold to him. Her full lips were parted ever so slightly. She looked stunned, floored. He'd done that to her. Knowing that, it took all his control not to capture her mouth again, not to finish what he'd started. He released her neck and leaned back against his seat, gripping the steering wheel tightly. It was either that or this was going to go farther than either of them intended. He didn't intend for _this _to happen only once, which it would if he pushed too far too fast.

"Good night, sugar."

Irene's eyes narrowed immediately. _He_ was dismissing _her_? "I don't take kindly to being kissed without permission."

"You didn't exactly push me away," he pointed out. "Anyway, it was just a kiss. I think we can get passed this."

Irene glared at him then said coolly, "I'm not the only one who's going to wonder what would've happened if you hadn't pulled away. You can be sure of that."

She slammed the car door, causing its whole frame to shake. He watched as she strode up the front path and disappeared into her house. She was right. Damn her. Damon started the car and drove away slowly. His blood was still pumping. It rushed through his veins like it was high. He needed somebody. He wanted _her _though.

Damon knew Irene was beautiful –anyone with eyes could see that– but he hadn't realized just how much fire and passion simmered beneath her surface. She projected an image of sarcasm, of cool control. He hadn't realized how far from the truth that really was. When he'd kissed her, he'd expected her to pull back, to drill him with some snarky comment, but instead she'd exploded, like dynamite, leaving him needing her like he needed blood.

Damn her.

* * *

When Damon got home the first thing he did was pour himself a glass of whiskey. He didn't feel like sorority girls tonight. He knew what he felt like and he could've had it. Why had he pulled back? _Idiot_, his brain scolded him. It had been a test. He'd wanted to see what she'd do. Damon chuckled mirthlessly. He'd gotten his wish.

He heard Stefan enter the room but he ignored him. The incident at the Grill came back. The hurt that accompanied it was getting harder and harder to shove under the rug. One day he was going to trip over all the feelings he'd brushed beneath it. It made Damon angry. It wasn't Stefan's fault but, since he couldn't bring himself to blame Elena, Stefan was going to be the scapegoat.

"You're back," Stefan began.

"_Clearly_."

"How did your date go?" he asked cautiously, sensing the dangerous mood his brother was in. "You looked like were enjoying yourself."

"I was."

"She suits you."

Damon took a long draw of whiskey, expression thoughtful. "Why do you say that?"

"She isn't fazed by you."

Damon shrugged. "I'm not fazed by her."

"It's okay to feel, Damon."

Damon sighed heavily; this conversation was taking a leap towards depressive. "Don't start with the 'feelings are important' lecture, Stef. I'm not in the mood."

"You're not as tough as you seem," Stefan pushed.

"I'm still tough enough to snap you neck if you keep talking, brother."

Stefan raised his hands. "Alright, I get it. You don't want to talk about it. See you tomorrow, Damon."

Damon just nodded and listened as Stefan's footsteps disappeared upstairs. He could smell the blood but he ignored it. Stefan's problems were his own. Maybe his little brother would develop a less irritating personality if he drank a little of the good stuff. He shook his head. It was a fool's hope. This wasn't going to end well. It never did but it seemed Stefan was going to have to figure it out the hard way… _again_. Sighing, he set down his empty tumbler and went upstairs.

Damon stripped and slipped beneath the sheets, enjoying the crisp feeling against his skin. It felt good against the heat Irene had caused. He felt his blood pressure lowering. Turning onto to his side, he stared at the empty pillow next to him. Why was it always empty? He closed his eyes and imagined, as he often did, that Elena was there next to him but when he opened his eyes it wasn't Elena's face he was looking at. It was Irene's.

* * *

Standing under the hot spray of water, Irene couldn't get him out of her mind and it made her even angrier. It was like his image was burned onto the back of her eyelids. She could still feel the hard slant of his lips, could still taste the whiskey on his tongue. His eyes had been unreadable and she detested that he'd been in more control that she'd been.

And the fact that she was angry made her even angrier. Like he'd said, it was just a kiss. So why was she so infuriated? A part of her said it was because he was a vampire. Another part of her, considerably bigger and louder, said it was because he'd stopped. Then there was that last little bit, like a niggling whisper, that told her it was something else, something deeper. Irene groaned and shook her head, trying to get him out of it. Why couldn't she get rid of him? It had just been a kiss. One kiss and she was acting like this. This wasn't her. She was cool and controlled and collected. She played the games, the games didn't play her.

Irene stepped out of the shower and into a pair of grey sweatpants and a white tank top. Leaving her hair wet from its washing, she turned off the light and climbed into her bed. Her brain was still too wired to sleep. What would have happened if Damon hadn't stopped? Would she have let him in? The thought of him and her, in her bed, was far too wonderful an image. It made her feel restless, made her anger grow.

She closed her eyes and, against all rational, pretended his hard body was next to hers, on hers, in hers. But when she opened her eyes, it wasn't Damon lying next to her. It was Klaus. Irene flew out of bed, back against the wall, staring at her bed in horror. Her mind was reeling. She was in a state of shock. Her stomach rolled. She felt sick. She could taste the bile in her mouth. Had she really just imagined Klaus was in her bed? What was wrong with her?

* * *

**Please, please let me know what you think. It really means a lot to a writer when they receive feedback on their story. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to everyone, especially VampireAddictForever (she's my favourite), for reading my story and a special thank you to those who review for me. I really appreciate it. :)**

**- imaginationismymuse x**

* * *

_Chapter seven_

The sound of her cell phone ringing shattered her sleep. Pulling the pillow over her ears, Irene tried to block out the shrill noise but it was no use. Through half-open, sleep-filled eyes, she fumbled for her phone, cursing whoever it was. Her fingers touched the small device and she squinted at the lit up screen. There was no caller ID so, reluctantly, she answered it.

"Hello?" Her voice was still thick with sleep.

_"Good morning,"_ a woman's voice said down the phone line. _"Is this Irene Miller speaking?"_

_You should know, you're calling my cell_, she thought, annoyed. "It is."

_"It's Carol Lockwood,"_ the woman on the other end introduced herself.

"Sorry, _who_?"

_"The Mayor's wife,"_ Carol explained, sounding slightly put out.

Too tired to care if she'd offended her, Irene propped herself up on her elbows. "And what can I do for you, Mrs Lockwood?"  
_  
"I have something to discuss with you."_ Her tone was secretive and it piqued Irene's interest. _"Can you join me for brunch at the Grill?"_

"Sure," Irene agreed, curious despite herself. "What time?"

_"Is eleven o'clock okay?"  
_  
"It's perfect."

_"Good,"_ Carol said, satisfied. _"I'll see you in twenty minutes then."_

Irene gave a start. What? In twenty minutes? Carol hung up as she leaped out of bed. She hadn't realized it was so late. Yanking open the curtains, Irene was momentarily blinded as sunlight streamed into her room. She smiled though, letting it bathe her face, watching as the dust particles danced in the sudden disturbance. The weather was finally turning around.

She flung open the sliding doors that led to her backyard. Shadows may be her forte but sunlight was her happiness. There was a slight nip in the air as a gust of wind tugged at her hair but it wasn't cold enough that she needed to bundle up.

Irene dressed in leggings, a long, loose V-neck shirt in olive green and a pair of nude coloured flats. Remembering the chill of the breeze, she shrugged on a cream sweater, leaving it unbuttoned. Because she hadn't bothered to brush her hair last night, the blonde waves fluffed around her head like a halo. She dragged a brush through them and straightened any flyaways. Then, leaving her face clear of makeup, she spritzed herself with some perfume and grabbed her purse, keys and phone from her side table. Her stomach growled but she ignored it, she could eat when she got to the restaurant.

* * *

Carol Lockwood was a handsome woman with shoulder length brown hair highlighted artfully with gold and dark, almost black, eyes. She held herself tall and with a nobleness that suited her position. The fact that she wore a navy skirt suit to breakfast told Irene that she valued her position highly. The heel tapping impatiently against the tarmac sidewalk told Irene she was late. She quickened her pace, waving to catch Carol's eyes. The Mayor's wife's face immediately split into a wide grin, entirely too friendly for someone she barely knew.

"Irene, it's a pleasure to meet you," she greeted her, planting a kiss on either one of her cheeks.

Irene blinked, a little shocked. "Um, thanks, Mrs Lockwood. It's nice to meet you too. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

"That's not a problem," Carol said easily. "I've been wanting to meet you. Shall we go inside?"

Irene nod hesitantly, uncertain what Carol meant by wanting to meet her. How did Carol even know about her? Irene highly doubted that someone like Carol Lockwood, the _Mayor's wife_, took every student teacher to breakfast. Carol led them into the restaurant and a waitress immediately appeared, smoothing down her skirt hastily.

"Mrs Lockwood," the girl gushed, looking absolutely thrilled, "what may I do for you, ma'am?"

"A table for two please," Carol said, "somewhere private."

"Of course, follow me." They followed her to the back of the restaurant. The girl stopped by a secluded table and smiled nervously. "Is this okay, Mrs Lockwood? I can get you a different one if it isn't."

"It's perfect," Carol said, taking a seat. "Thank you, Angela."

Irene sat down opposite her as the girl, who had simpered sickeningly when Carol had said her name, pulled out a pen and paper. "Can I take your order, ma'am?"

"I would like a decaf latte," Carol ordered, glancing down at the breakfast menu, "and a cinnamon bagel."

The girl scribbled away furiously then turned to Irene. "And you?"

Irene noted the change in tone from Carol to her and her eyes narrowed slightly. "A coffee, black, and your breakfast special."

"I'll be back soon with your drinks."

The girl hurried off and Irene turned to Carol Lockwood, who was watching her closely. Why was she staring at her? Feeling unnerved, like the Mayor's wife knew something she didn't, Irene glanced around the restaurant and spotted Ric at the bar, toying with his drink, hunched over his phone. He gave her a small nod when he saw her staring and raised his glass slightly. Irene repressed a smile. Ric, it seemed, was a day drinker. She'd have to remember to tease him about it later. Carol cleared her throat and Irene turned to her attention back to the woman in front of her.

"You must be wondering why I asked you here," she began.

"It was a bit of a surprise, Mrs Lockwood," Irene admitted cautiously.

"Call me Carol, Irene," Carol said as the waitress brought them their drinks. "Thank you, Angela. This is wonderful."

"It's a pleasure," the girl practically fell over her words. "Your food won't be long."

Angela the waitress scuttled off and Carol watched her leave fondly. "Such a nice girl," she commented. "I should introduce her to Tyler. He's my son." Carol turned her attention to the beautiful young woman in front of her. "How old _are _you?"

"Nineteen," Irene replied shortly. She was getting impatient of this dancing around. "Okay, _Carol_, why did you want to speak to me?"

"Oh yes. Well, tonight is the Founder's Day Kickoff party, which the Mayor, my husband, hosts every year. I was going through the list of the founding families and I saw the name James Anthony Miller." She reached across the table and grasped Irene's hand. "Your ancestors had a hand in founding this town and I would like to extend an invitation for tonight."

Her mind worked quickly and she realized that Carol Lockwood had just offered her another reason to be here. A reason that Damon, and everyone else, just might believe. It was like the universe was smiling down at her, which rarely happened. Irene gripped Carol's hand tightly and smiled.

"Thank you so much for welcoming me, Carol." She allowed her voice to break ever so slightly. "I came to Mystic Falls to reconnect with my heritage. I'm-I'm the only one left. My family died last summer in a car accident. I was only one who survived. It was horrible."

It wasn't true, just the first thing that came to her mind but it seemed to do the trick. Carol took the bait like it was a worm and she was the hapless fish.

"Oh you poor dear," she cooed. "If there is _anything _I can do just let me know."

Irene had done her research, knew all about the Council, the founding families. She knew that Carol knew about vampires. "Well," she said hesitantly, "there is one thing."

"What is it, dear?"

She looked around carefully then leaned forward. "I have some experience hunting _animals_, if you what I mean?" she whispered. Carol's mouth dropped open and Irene had to suppress a bout of laughter. "Are you okay? I know it's a –"

"Miracle," Carol finished, getting a grip, and beamed at Irene. "I can't believe you already know. Back in nineteen sixty-four, your family was this town's best hunters." Irene couldn't believe her luck. Maybe the universe didn't hate her. "This really is terrific news. You see, we only have one vampire hunter and I'm sure he'd appreciate the help."

"Who is it?" she asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Damon Salvatore –" Irene nearly spat coffee all over Carol's cream suit. Carol gave her a funny look. "What's wrong, Irene?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, wiping her mouth. _Except that your only vampire hunter _is _a vampire. _"You were saying."

The waitress arrived with their food. She set them down and quickly scurried away. "Oh yes," Carol said, using a knife and fork to cut her bagel – that amused Irene, who rarely ate with anything but her hands. "Damon Salvatore is one of the Council's most dedicated members. He's the best we have."

"I wonder why," Irene muttered, scooping a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth. "It takes one to kill one."

"What was that, Irene?"

Swallowing, Irene smiled at Carol innocently. "I said I'd be honoured to help."

Carol beamed at her, clasping her hands together with excitement. "That's wonderful," Carol gushed. "You cannot imagine how perfect this is." Her eyes danced over Irene's shoulder and brightened. "Oh, this is perfect. Damon! Damon, over here."

Irene turned around in her seat as Damon sauntered up to their table. Ric must have told him she was here. His forehead slightly creased – the only sign that he was confused. Irene could almost see him trying to figure out what she was doing having lunch with the Mayor's wife. She smirked and tossed her hair. Let him stress about it. It would serve him right for drilling her.

Then her eyes met his and last night came rushing back in a wave of heat. _Damn him._

"Damon, this is Irene Miller," Carol introduced, oblivious to electricity between them.

Damon picked up her hand and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Irene Miller."

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Irene snatched her hand away and scowled up at him. He had no right to touch her, no right to make her stomach do that. No right to kiss her like he had. He had no right.

"Carol's been telling me all about your vampire hunting expertise," she said with a sweet smile. Irene found immense satisfaction in his startled expression. _Not so tough now, Salvatore. _"I look forward to working with you."

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "You told her?" he asked Carol.

"She is a founding family member, Damon." Irene covered her hand to contain a snigger. Damon looked like he'd seen a ghost. "The last descendent of James Anthony Miller, in fact – one of the best vampire hunters this town has ever seen." Her amusement dried up at Carol's next words. "I thought perhaps you could accompany her to the party tonight."

And just like that, the universe was back to hating her.

"It's fine, Carol, really," Irene butted in before Damon could say anything. "I don't want to inconvenience anyone."

"Nonsense," Damon said smoothly, smirking at her. "I'd be honoured to escort you, Ms Miller."

Irene gritted her teeth. She couldn't refuse now without being blatantly rude. "Thank you, Mr Salvatore, how very kind of you." She glanced at the clock on the wall and jumped up. "My God, is that the time? I have to go. Thanks for the brunch and the invitation, Carol."

"Of course, Irene," Carol said. "I look forward to seeing you later."

"Likewise and thank you for welcoming me into your fold." She aimed a crippling glare at Damon and said frostily, "I'll see you tonight, Mr Salvatore."

"It starts at six," Carol called after her but Irene was already weaving her way through tables. Carol gestured for Damon to take a seat. "She's an enchanting girl."

"She sure is," Damon agreed, watching Irene's ass. It really was quite spectacular. A pity he didn't trust its owner. Tearing his eyes away, he sat down. "What I want to know is if we can trust her."

Carol nodded. "That's what I want you to find out, Damon. There's no one I trust more than you. I want to know if she's really a hunter."

_Oh, she is. _"Of course." He stood, wanting to catch Irene up. "I'll see you tonight, Carol."

"See you, Damon."

* * *

Irene stormed down the street. She had been played. She'd hung back and caught the end of their conversation. So, Carol Lockwood wanted to play games. Irene scoffed at the thought. If only she knew her golden vampire hunter was a vampire himself. She wasn't about to rat on Damon though. She wasn't getting anywhere near Elena if she didn't have Damon's trust. It wouldn't hurt though to keep him on edge, make him suffer a little.

She stripped off her sweater, folding it over her arms. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, warm and bright. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, which was so blue it looked like it could break. The effect was ruined as a familiar blue car pulled up next to her and the window slid down, revealing Damon's arrogant, and entirely too good looking, face. She ignored him and carried on walking but he followed behind her and she could almost _feel _his amusement.

"What do you want?" she demanded finally.

"I wondered how long I was going to have to follow you," he said with a chuckle, "before you stopped being childish."

Her eyes became slits. "What. Do. You. Want?"

"Jump in, _Ms Miller_," he said in a way that sounded far too much like an order for her liking. "I'll give you a lift."

"No."

"Ah, come on, sugar," he cajoled. "Don't be like that."

"No."

Damon sighed heavily. "Would it help if I apologized for kissing you?"

"No, I'd just be insulted." But she yanked open the car door and slid onto the dark leather seat. "I'm only getting in because you were willing to apologize and because I don't feel like walking."

"Why would you be insulted?" he asked, gunning the engine.

Irene kept her gaze firmly glued on the trees and houses rushing past them. "It would imply you regretted kissing me, that it was a mistake. No girl wants to know they were a mistake."

"I don't have regrets."

"I know." Since she'd already forgiven him for last night – and since she wasn't willing to explain _how _she'd overheard his conversation with Carol Lockwood – her lips curved playfully and her gaze shifted to him. "Did you think about me last night, Salvatore?"

"A little," he admitted.

Irene's smile widened but she didn't say anything, processing that information. So he had thought about her. So it wasn't just her. _No_, her mind told her firmly. _This is not a game. You have a job to do. _She knew that. A girl could dream though, couldn't she?

They pulled up outside her house and Irene jumped out the car. She had a party to get ready for. Irene smothered a yawn. Maybe a little nap was in order. Carol Lockwood had gotten her out of her bed and she hadn't had much sleep last night. The whole daydreaming about Klaus in her bed thing had freaked her out. _Don't think about it_, she ordered herself as she walked up the path that led to her house.

Irene didn't realize Damon had followed her until she'd unlocked the door. Then she felt his hands mould themselves to her hips and slowly turn her around. His body covered hers, hard against her curves. Wood and glass panel pressed against her back. His hands left her hips, fingers trailing up her waist, the sides of her breasts, her exposed collarbone, over her shoulders. Irene supressed a shiver of desire, focusing on regulating her breathing and heart rate, knowing full well he would hear them. His eyes, though cold in colour, burned into her. Her heart rate jumped ever so slightly and he smirked. _Dammit._

"I like your house," Damon murmured. His lips hovered above hers, cool breath fanning her face. "Why don't you invite me in?"

She shook her head. "Can't, too dangerous."

He arched an eyebrow. "Are you afraid of me, sugar?"

Her hand reached for the door handle. "Not in the slightest."

"I think you are."

"I'm not," she promised then opened the door.

Irene fell back onto the patterned carpet of the entrance hall, fully expecting Damon to be stuck outside. So it was much to her surprise when he fell with her, landing on top of her, crushing her, causing the breath to rush from her lungs in one loud whoosh.

"Oh come," she muttered, lips brushing against his neck. "Don't I count anymore?"

Damon loomed over her, face like a storm cloud. It was amazing how he could go from sexy to dangerous in a few seconds. The hard planes of his face seemed to sharpen in anger, like knives. His eyes were flat and hard. A pained sound tore from her lips as Damon slammed her against the wall in less than a second; hand around her throat like a vise. Irene choked slightly as the force crushed her windpipe.

"Y-you're strangling me," she rasped.

He flashed his teeth at her, veins crawling down from his eyes. "Why didn't I have to be invited in?"

"This isn't my house."

"I'm not buying it." His grip on her neck tightened and she gasped. "Try again, sugar. No more lies."

"I'm not lying," she wheezed. "I-I have a friend, he's a vampire. He's the one who w-was helping me find my family. This is his h-house."

"What's his name?"

"R-Ruben," she choked out. "It's the truth now let go of my t-throat before you k-kill me. Try explaining _that_ to Carol Lockwood." Reluctantly, he released her and stepped back. She sagged against the wall. Her hands cupped her throat, eyes daggering him. "What in God's name is your problem?"

As quickly as his anger had come, it was gone and he shrugged. "I overreacted."

"And almost killed me," she spat.

"It'll probably happen again. No point in getting offended."

"God, you're an asshole."

Dumping her bag and sweater on the kitchen counter, she began rummaging through cupboards until she found what she was looking for – a bottle of red wine. The bottle was already open and half-finished but she didn't care, pulling out the cork and taking a long swig. She could feel Damon scrutinizing her, probably watching the purple bruises fade from her throat. It annoyed her. He annoyed her.

"Stop staring at me," Irene snapped.

"Your bruises are fading."

"Yeah, well, maybe you're not as strong as you think you are," she retorted, grabbing a tall-stemmed wine glass from a glass cabinet.

"I'm a great deal stronger than you are, sugar."

Irene nearly spilt wine all over the kitchen counter. A few drops splattered on the granite and with a growl she grabbed a cloth from the sink, proceeding to wipe them.

"You know, Salvatore," she said as she cleaned. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. If you continue pushing me, I'll show you and you might regret your brave words."

Her tone was cool and collected but the threat behind it was very real. She seriously thought she could beat him. Heck, he even believed it in that moment. It made Damon feel like he was missing a piece of the puzzle, like he wasn't seeing the whole picture. And there was nothing he hated more than not knowing.

"No offense, sugar, but you're a human."

She chucked the cloth back in the sink and grabbed her glass of wine. "You're underestimating humans again. It's going to get you killed."

"It's a fairly reasonable assumption," he said as she brushed past him. He followed her into a small, cosy living room. "I'm stronger, faster and smarter than you."

She rolled her eyes. "Not sure about the smarter bit."

Irene sunk onto the pale yellow couch, resting her back against the duck egg blue and cream cushions. Her body was tired from being woken up, from yesterday, from the fact that it had been working nine-hundred years longer than it should have.

She kneaded at her neck absentmindedly and winced, taking a sip from her glass. She'd either slept in a helluva bad position last night or this was the aftermath of Damon almost strangling her.

The cushions dipped next to her, alerting her to Damon's presence, and she felt his fingers brush hers away as he began massaging her neck. Irene was going to stop him, was going to tell him to back off, but it felt so good to have his cool fingers on her skin. It wasn't sexual, maybe it could've been but the wine had lulled her senses and her body felt heavy. Her eyelids fluttered close and her head lolled to the side, giving him better access to her neck.

"You tired, sugar?' he murmured, sounding very close.

She made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat. "I was woken up this morning by Carol Lockwood."

His fingers paused. "Why didn't you tell me you were a founding family member?"

"I didn't know for sure." It was amazing, and disturbing, how easily the lies slipped off her tongue. "I didn't want to get my hopes up and then have them come crashing down around me. I just want to belong."

"I can understand that."

"I do find it quite funny that you're this town's best vampire hunter though."

His breath skimmed down her neck as he chuckled. "You'd better believe it, Miller. How many vampires did you kill the other day?"

"Two, and you?"

"I got at least five," he said proudly.

"You _are _faster and stronger than me," she pointed out, unconsciously edging closer to him. "The fact that you only managed to kill three more than me isn't that amazing."

His lips brushed against her temple. "Whatever you say, sugar."

Her eyes snapped open. She hadn't realized how close they were. Irene was leaning on his chest like he was the back of a sofa. She could feel the steady beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his stomach as he breathed. His fingers now traced patterns across her bare arms. It was not desire she felt this time but something infinitely more terrifying. She felt _contented,_ like this was the most natural thing in the world. Her and Damon felt _right_. Panic shot up her spine. She jumped up, needing to break the contact, and ended up spilling wine all over her clothes and the wooden floorboards.

Damon arched an eyebrow. "What'd you do that for? Look at the mess you've made."

Her tone was stiff, a thin veneer hiding the turmoil raging inside. "I can see that."

She set down her wine glass on the coffee table and hurried to the kitchen, grabbing her trusty cloth from the sink. Her expression she kept relaxed and nonchalant but her mind was rioting, thoughts popping up so loudly she was sure he could hear them. She ignored them. She couldn't deal with them when Damon was in her home. _Oh God_, she thought. _W__hy is he in my home?_

As she passed her bag on her way back to the lounge, her phone buzzed. Pulling it out, she opened the message and quickly read it. It was from Ruben and it was bad news, and today had started out so promising.

**Katherine is no longer in New Orleans. **Alarm bells rang in her head. **She didn't tell me where she was going. Sorry, Rina. – R **

"Shit," she cursed under her breath and quickly typed back: **Let me know if you get any more information. – I **

"Bad news?" Damon asked, strolling into the kitchen.

Irene quickly closed the message and shook her head. "Not at all."

"Your language would say otherwise."

"What are you, a detective?" she shot back.

Damon grinned at her rakishly. "Call me Sherlock Holmes."

Irene struggled not to be amused but it was hard. "You think you're really cute, don't you, Salvatore?"

"Am I wrong?"

Moving back into the lounge, she knelt on the floor and began cleaning up the wine. "Sometimes you can be rather charming," she admitted. "Other times you can be an ass. Most of the time you're an ass."

"Speaking of asses, I've taken a liking to yours."

"You wouldn't be the first," Irene tossed back, standing up. Hands on her hips, she surveyed the lounge and gave a nod. "There, good as new."

Damon's hands landed on her shoulders, slowly turning her around. His eyes trailed down her body. "I wouldn't say the same about your clothes."

Her voice was slightly shaky, much to her annoyance. "I-I know that."

"You want some help undressing?" he asked.

"I've been undressing on my own for quite some time now." Irene needed him to stop touching her, even the hands on her shoulders caused ripples throughout her. "I think I can manage."

"If you're sure," he said, stepping back. "I'm just being friendly."

"Well, _friend_, if I need help undressing, you'll be the first one I call." She glanced at the clock that hung above the television set. It was nearly one o'clock. "I need to start getting ready and you need to go."

Damon nodded. He had some things he needed to do. "I'll pick you up at five."

"Why so early?" she asked, opening the front door. "We only have to be there at six and the Lockwood's is only ten minutes away max."

"We're heading over to Elena's first," Damon explained. "There are some things you need to be filled in on."

"I'm assuming this has something to do with what the Council does and doesn't know."

"You're smart, Miller."

She gave him a 'duh' look. "I know."

He smirked and leaned forward, touching his lips to hers. It was a gentle, lingering kiss that she felt from her toes to the ends of her hair. She needed more. But when she leaned forward, he pulled away.

"You let me know when you've changed your mind, sugar. Next time I touch you, I'm not going to stop."

Damon had the satisfaction of seeing her mouth drop open. He pressed another quick kiss to her lips, savouring the sweet taste of her, then turned around and sauntered nonchalantly down the path. He could feel her eyes on him, knew the moment when she stopped staring at him and the door slammed shut. Damon chuckled, pleased he'd managed to ruffle her feathers, and climbed into his car, revving the engine. This was going to be an interesting evening, one he was sincerely looking forward to.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Please, please review for me! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Here it is! Please enjoy and leave me a little review as to what you think! Also, if anyone has questions then I'd be more than happy to answer them. It's always a pleasure.**

**To the guest who asked me to update: here it is, darling! Especially finished for you! Thanks for reviewing and please continue to let me know what you think. It means a lot. Enjoy! :)**

**- imaginationismymuse x**

* * *

_Chapter eight_

Irene sat at her dressing table in nothing but her short white robe, held together by a tie around her waist, and did her makeup. It was strangely thrilling for her. She hadn't been to a party in a long time, hadn't put on a pretty dress or paid much attention to her face in ages. It was strangely therapeutic. She needed this, needed this normality. After Damon's ultimatum today, her mind had been in a crazed frenzy.

She'd debated his words all afternoon but had firmly refused to make a decision. She refused to let him put her on the spot. This was a game and she wouldn't play it. If he wanted her half as much as she wanted him (so a helluva lot), he could damn well get his hands dirty. He could risk his pride. She would not become a pawn to him or a distraction. His feelings towards Elena weren't important to her – all she wanted from him was physical, right? – but he would respect her before she let him touch her. She would become a person to him first. It was a matter of integrity.

Her mind, now that it was made up, had simmered down allowing her to concentrate on her face. Picking up her mascara brush, she lashed on another coat and smiled at her reflection. Irene was not hyper aware of her beauty but she could recognize it, appreciate it. The young woman she saw in the mirror had a delicate face with strong features. The brown contacts she used to hide her eyes made her face seem soft, soft where the topaz would've been harsh. The blonde, shorter hair disguised her heritage. The curling raven hair had made her look wild, like the gypsy she'd once been. She eyed herself and nodded. It was perfect. Now she just had to get dressed.

* * *

It was exactly five o'clock when Damon strolled through the front door, not bothering to knock. He could hear her humming and followed the noise to a closed door which he assumed led to her bedroom. As he reached for the door handle, the humming stopped and he paused, holding his breath.

"Damon?" her voice called from behind the door. "Is that you?"

"You're good, sugar." Shaking his head, he pushed the door open. "I was hoping to scare you."

Her laughter was light, like sunshine. "I don't scare easily, Salvatore."

He didn't comment; he was too busy staring at her.

Starting at the bottom, his eyes trailed up her body. Strappy black heels made her legs seem endless and his mouth water. She had stunning legs, long and lean and golden brown. The dress itself was simple, hem hitting her mid-thigh. It was the colour of crushed raspberries and it looked just as delicious against her dark skin. The tight bodice dipped slightly at the neckline, teasing at the temptations that lay below, and showed off her curves – the tiny waist, the flared hips. It was a halter dress and the back dipped low as she twirled.

He wanted to taste her skin.

Her lips were painted a shade lighter than her dress and her eyes were made wider by some womanly art. The hair was straightened, falling just past her shoulders in a golden shimmer whenever she moved.

Damon swallowed hard. "You look…"

The lips curved, humour sparkling in her eyes. "Thank you, Salvatore," she all but purred and ran her gaze over him. "You're looking pretty good yourself."

"Are you sure you want to go?" His gaze shifted to the bed. It was massive. "We could stay."

"I don't think so," she said. She breezed passed him and he caught a whiff of her intoxicating scent. "I haven't been to a party in ages and I dressed up especially for this. We're going to go and we're going to dance and we're going to drink and I'm going to pretend I'm normal for one night."

It sounded strangely tempting, just for one night, but Damon shook his head. "Whatever, Miller," he said, holding out his arm. "Let's get going. Stefan and Elena are waiting for us."

She wound her arm through his, beaming at him. "I'm excited."

"You might not be when we get there," he told her as they walked out onto the porch. "Carol Lockwood may just smother you to death."

"Don't worry about –" She paused, head swivelling. "Where's your car, Salvatore? I hope you don't expect me to walk all the way to the Lockwood's in these shoes."

"And risk breaking those sexy ankles? _God,_ no. My car's at Elena's. It's just down the road." He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Are you up for it, Miller?"

She elbowed him in the ribs and raced off, surprisingly quickly considering the shoes she was wearing. "I'll race you, Salvatore."

Chuckling with disbelief, he caught up to her easily. "Did you really just challenge a vampire to a race? Not smart, sugar."

"I have my methods." Irene moved close to him and ground her heel onto his toe. Damon yelped as it broke and she took off. "See you at Elena's."

"That's not fair," he grumbled but his foot healed quickly enough and he blew past her. "That was a dirty trick, Miller."

"The world's a dirty place, Salvatore," Irene retorted, slowing her pace. He'd won.

Damon leaned casually against his car, parked on the verge outside a large, white house. "Are _you _dirty?"

She tossed her hair, pretending to consider his question. "You know what," she said, voice smoky, "you'll just have to man up and find out."

Damon appeared in front of her, standing less than a hair's breadth away from her. Every time she exhaled, her breasts brushed against his chest. The contact sent tremors through her body. His eyes were hot and hungry and on her. Her throat went drier than the desert. She couldn't have said anything even if her brain was able to form a coherent sentence. His fingers trailed up the side of her throat to cup her cheek as she squashed the rising panic. She was feeling too much.

"You know, sugar," he murmured, leaning down to slid his lips along her jawline. "You need to be able to carry out the things you say."

"I don't... _need _to do anything," she said unevenly, finding her voice.

"But you want to, don't you?"

Irene met his gaze and he saw the answer, saw it in those heated brown eyes; she wanted him. "No, I don't."

Damon shook his head, faking disappointment, and stepped away. "You shouldn't lie."

"I learned from the best," she shot back.

"Touché. Come on then, Miller." He laid his hand on the base of her spine, guiding her up to the house. "I'm tired of them peeking through the curtains at us."

"Are they? I hadn't noticed," she joked, trying to ignore the feeling of his touch. "Why _are _they staring?"

"They can't believe you like me."

"Who said I liked you?" she asked, arching an eyebrow playfully.

Damon scoffed. "I know you do, sugar."

"I find you attractive," Irene informed him as they stepped onto the front porch. "There's a difference."

Shrugging, he rapped his knuckles against the door. "It's good enough for me."

"You're so shallow."

The door swung open and revealed Elena. From the way her lips pursed and eyes hardened, Irene gauged that she wasn't happy to see neither Damon nor her. Confused, wondering what she'd done wrong, she gave Elena a small smile. Honestly, she couldn't be bothered with Elena's problems right now, she had her own and they came in the form of the highly irresistible, extremely irritating man standing next to her whose thumb was casually tracing circles on her bare back.

"Hello, Elena," Irene greeted her.

Elena's smile was forced but at least she tried. "Hi." All pretence of friendliness fell when she turned to Irene's partner. "Damon."

"Are you going to let us in, Elena?" Damon drawled, amused by Elena's frostiness. "Or are you going to make us stand out here?"

"Of course," Elena said, scowling, and stepped aside. "Please come in."

"Don't mind if we do," Damon replied.

They stepped inside as Stefan appeared behind Elena. Irene took him in. So, this was the boy that had started all of this. He was very good looking, though he looked nothing like his brother. His looks were more of the classic superhero – wide jaw, heavy eyebrows and tortured hazel eyes. She judged that he was slighter in build, more like a jackal to Damon's jaguar. Her eyes also picked up the slightly dilated pupils and loose movements. It wasn't noticeable to normal human eyes but it told her that he was still struggling, probably using alcohol as a method to deal with it. That wasn't good.

"You must be Stefan," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Irene Miller."

Stefan shook her hand and she caught a faint whiff of alcohol, confirming her suspicions. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Irene. Now I can personally thank you for saving Elena's life."

"It was nothing."

"You almost died," Damon reminded her.

"Considering what I do, Salvatore, it's not a big deal. I almost die more often than I'd like to admit." Irene glanced around the sumptuous house she found herself in. It was a family home, pictures of Elena and her brother and her parents were everywhere. "I like your house, Elena. Makes mine look like a dollhouse."

"Thanks," Elena replied stiffly.

There was movement upstairs, the shuffling of footsteps against wooden floorboard, and Irene tilted her head. "Who's here?"

"Elena's aunt," Stefan answered for his girlfriend.

"Is it safe to talk?"

"Yes," Elena interjected, "as long as we keep it down."

Irene sat down on the couch, not bothering to wait for Elena to give her permission – she was sure she wouldn't get it. "Okay, well I'm guessing I'm here because of Damon's highly respected position on the Council. Which _I_ think is quite funny."

"This is serious," sniped Elena.

Brown eyes darkened as they drilled into Elena. "I know that, Elena."

Elena was slightly cowed by the look. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"I understand you're under a lot of stress but I haven't given you a reason not to trust me. I haven't given any of you reasons not to trust me." Irene's gaze panned the room and something occurred to her. "In fact, considering I'm here, I'd say you all need something from me."

"You're right," Stefan said.

Irene folded her arms across her chest. "Well, spill it."

"Elena's uncle, Jonathan Gilbert, has turned up and we need to know why he's here. What he wants –"

"– and if I need to kill him or not," Damon put in.

"We're _not _killing him," Elena snapped.

Irene ignored her. Her attitude was annoying at the moment. "And how am I going to be useful?"

"He knows what we are," Damon explained. "At least we think he does. He doesn't know anything about you, just that your family used to be one of this town's best vampire hunters."

"And you want me to sully my family's name by siding with vampires?" Irene asked, lips twitching. "I'm offended you would think so low of me."

"I'll make it worth your while," Damon said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Stefan cringed. "Okay, stop. Just tell us if you'll help us."

Irene sighed. "I don't see how it'll help. I doubt he's going to trust someone who's new to town. _I _wouldn't."

"Have you _looked _at yourself in a mirror?" Damon asked.

She raised an eyebrow, struggling to keep a straight face. "You want me to be eye candy, Salvatore?"

"Bingo."

She pursed her lips. This could be a good way to get them to trust her implicitly. "Fine. I'll give it a try but don't expect him to open up to me."

"That's great." Damon clapped his hands together. "Oh yes, before I forget, the Council cannot know we're vampires. It would kind of ruin everything."

Irene scoffed at him. "I figured that one out on my own."

"Good." Damon glanced at his watch. "Let's get going. I don't want to listen to Carol's nagging if I don't have you there on time."

Irene nodded. "I just need to use the –"

"We need to go," Elena interrupted her. "I don't want to be late."

She stomped out of the room, followed closely by Stefan, who gave them an apologetic shrug. Irene looked at Damon. "What did I do?"

"I think you looked at her wrong," Damon quipped, holding out his hand.

She took it, frowning at him, and allowed him to pull her up. "I'm being serious."

"So am I," Damon replied. He still hadn't released her hand, using it to pull her towards the door. "Elena is a little sensitive lately. This whole thing with Stefan and then you, it's all a little much for her."

"_The_ _poor_ _baby_."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

"Which is why you use it so often, Salvatore," she shot back and pulled her hand from his. "I'm a big girl. I don't need you to hold my hand."

"I was being _nice_."

"Nice isn't a good look on you."

Damon nodded sagely but his eyes were bright with humour. "I agree with you. Now try explaining that to everyone else."

They stepped out into the rapidly depleting sunlight and saw Stefan and Elena by the car already. Irene watched as Stefan pressed a kiss to Elena's hair, murmuring something in her ear. Elena looked pained but nodded and turned her face to his. The look that passed between them was so pure, like freshly fallen snow, that it broke Irene's heart. She remembered when she'd loved like that. Loved with everything she had. Loved without thinking she'd ever be hurt. She wished she could warn them it wouldn't work. It couldn't work. A vampire and a human couldn't work. Pain was guaranteed.

As they approached them, Elena gave her a smile that was half-hearted at best. The frostiness was still evident in her eyes.

Damon leaned down and whispered, "On second thought, maybe we should've walked."

"I think you may be right. Damn, now I wish we'd stayed home," she teased him.

Damon groaned in her ear. "You're walking on thin ice, sugar."

"We'll see which one of us falls in first."

* * *

**Thanks for making it this far. There'll be more action (all kinds of action) after this... ;) **


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